


He's So Fine.

by SheyRicci



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, General, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: Bravo learns they can lose Clay even when they are home on vacation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy All!  
> I get the feeling you all want a follow-up to 'Hold on, I'm coming'.  
> But first, this request fill.

 

"Wait, say that again." Stella held her hand up. "I can't have heard you right…..did you just say, you're home for two weeks? No jobs, no missions? No chance of being deployed? None? At all?"

Clay nodded, breaking into a slow grin.

"No training? No going to the base? No work at all?"

He nodded again. She squealed, ready to fling herself into his arms for a huge hug, but he put a hand up.

"But," he grinned. "Only for one week. One week vacation. Second week, yeah, I'll have to report daily to base, but I'll be home every night." Now he let her launch at him, catching her and falling back over the arm of the sofa. "That make you happy?"

"YES!" she snuggled close, content to just lay with him on the sofa. "Can I ask why?"

"Sonny's got the flu or some infection, Jason's nursing a sore back, Ray came up with a bum ankle, Trent left to attend a wedding and Brock's away in training with Cerberus."

"Wait, someone other than you got hurt on a mission? Really?" She pushed up to look down at him. "I checked, you didn't even come home with a bruise this time."

His team had said the exact same thing.

"So, you're given two weeks home because your team can't deploy?" She mused.

"I suppose I could tell Eric I'll run with another team." He teased. Jason would never allow it, but it was fun to tease her.

"Don't you dare! Not only do I deserve to have you home, you deserve a break!"

Wasn't that the truth!

"Can we go away? Go to the mountains maybe? Off-grid? No outside communication?"

"That we can't do." He told her, pushing her hair out of her face. "No, no." he laughed, seeing her face fall in disappointment. "We can go away, we can go to the mountains. But," he kissed her nose. "Me going off-grid with no outside communication on a vacation isn't ever going to happen." Not as long as he ran with Bravo anyway.

"Why not?" she pouted, but without anger.

Because Jason would never allow it.

"Do you want five big guys and a pissed off dog kicking in doors and breaking through windows on your romantic getaway?" he teased.

"We'll tell them where we are." She argued, laying her head back on his chest. She was quiet. "You're serious, huh? They would do that?"

"If they tried to reach me and couldn't? Yeah. Yeah, they would." Clay twirled her hair around his fingers. "This time, we're all home for the same amount of time. But there's gonna be times where one of us is home on vacation or leave or left behind due to injury and if anything happens, if something goes wrong with the guys on a mission…"

"I get it." She said. "I do. And I understand. You're going to want to be on the retrieval team that is sent to find them. Yeah, even now, when you're all home and two of you are out of town, if there was an accident, or anything happened, you'd want to be there."

Did she understand, Clay wondered? Did she get it? Because it wasn't; he'd _want_ to be there. It was; he _would_ be there.

Leaving her whenever, wherever would be her life, not all women could hack it. Commander Blackburn's wife was one who could...had for more than thirty years. So far, Ray's wife was holding on, but Jason's wife….well, she'd thought once Jason had put in enough years to retire, he would. But he hadn't and didn't have any intention of doing so. And their kids were still young. Not as young as Ray's, but young enough to have several more years at home and Alana wanted to be a family of four, full-time.

"It's just, do I ever get you all to myself?"

"Sure you do."

"Until your phone buzzes." She pushed up. "Can we really go to the mountains?" She didn't want to get her hopes up, but if they stayed here at the apartment, someone would be by or call and invite Clay out for drinks or to shoot pool. Sure, most of Bravo was either down or out of town, but sore backs and bums ankles did not mean 'restricted to bed'. Huh. Didn't matter. Someone from one team or another was always in town. Alpha, Echo, Bravo support, guys Clay had teamed up and servied with before…it was the Navy, someone was always home.

"Do you have a destination in mind?"

"Just jump on the Blue Ridge Parkway and stop where we feel like it. Maybe Roaring Runs Falls? Rent a cabin or camp out under the stars."

Why not?

"Okay." Clay agreed. "Cabin though. We can watch the stars from its porch. Let me call Jason while you decide where we're staying so I can let him know." He set her aside and got up.

She felt a flash of irritation, but shook it off. She wanted to be spontaneous, not plan the trip down to every detail, but she'd gotten her way, they were going. She watched him move off, the ever present phone pulled from his back pocket. It did cross her mind that Jason might say no. He really didn't have the right to do so, but that didn't matter. If Jason Hayes, Clay's boss, didn't want Clay to leave town, then Clay wouldn't leave town.

Ugh!

***000***

Though separated from his wife, the separation was amicable and rather than staying with Ray on the sofa, driving his wife crazy with two invalids, an infant and a five-year old, Jason had accepted his wife's invitation to recuperate at home. The kids were happy, accepting that Dad would be staying with them while home for two whole weeks, _this_ time.

He thought it odd to be getting a call from Clay, the kid had been given a week off. He was on free time, what could he want? He motioned to Mikey he'd be right back and stepped out onto the patio to take the call.

"Here you are."

Jason sat at the table, forgetting his promise to return to his son and continue their game of checkers. Alana had eventually wandered out in search of him with two glasses of iced tea. She set one down in front of him and took a seat across from him with the other.

Jason was quiet. He wasn't happy. Oh, he didn't like this. Didn't like it all. The kid being across town, out of his sight was one thing. Driving with just the girlfriend out of town was quite another. But the kid had been given the week off and he didn't need Jason's permission to go. He was an adult who, before joining Bravo, had managed to live his life and stay alive just fine.

"Hello Jason." Alana teased with a smile. "Hey there. Hi."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." His mind was racing over the possibilities what kind of trouble Clay might find in the mountains of Virginia. He sighed, he needed to find a way to let this go.

"What's going on?" She curled her legs up in the chair. "Someone in trouble? I didn't see you call anyone after you hung up." Like Eric. "Everything okay?" She offered him sugar.

"Yeah, sorry." He used the straw to dunk the slice of lemon beneath the ice, stirred in a spoonful of sugar. "That was Spenser. He's, uh, going away for a few days with the girlfriend."

"Is that a problem?"

"No." But he didn't sound certain. He shook his head. "No."

"Did he call for your permission or to tell you?"

"To tell me."

"But if you had said no, he couldn't go, or you'd rather he didn't, would he gave gone anyway?"

"No."

"Could you have stopped him had he said he was going if you'd told him no?"

Jason shrugged. "He was given the week off, he can do what he wants. I can't stop him."

"But as team leader, his boss, had you said no, he wouldn't have gone, right?" Alana pressed. "Some team leaders would abuse that power. You can make his life hell, he disobeys you, but you can't punish him for doing whatever he wants to on his free time. Am I right?"

"It's not that." Jason tasted the iced tea, added more sugar. "It's just, I don't know how the hell he managed two tours in Afghanistan, how he completed training. I've talked to some of the guys he served with while on those deployments. I've beat Adam up over drinks and dinner, grilled him how the kid did in training and everyone tells me the same thing. No injuries, no incidents."

"But you don't agree?"

"I let him out of my sight and he's hurt or lost or kidnapped. All this grey? Ain't from you."

She smiled. "He's young Jason. Reminds me so much of you."

"I can handle young. I can handle reckless and daring and cocky. I can handle dumb choices and stupid decisions. I can beat those traits out of him. What I'm having trouble with is this gut-feeling if we let him go off on his own, we're gonna hafta go get him."

"I know I don't have to point this out, but…..you can transfer him out of your unit."

"The guys would revolt." He sipped more tea. "I've thought about it, talked it over with Eric, just can't bring myself to do it."

"Because he'd just go to another team who might not care as much as you do? Because you're worried about what will happen to him? Or because you don't want to? You thrive on looking out for someone Jason Hayes. You like being needed. It's why you put up with Sonny."

"Sonny's a good guy."

Alana grinned. "He is. You know I adore him."

"Clay is still learning, still makes mistakes, but dammit Alana, he's got grit and determination and no matter how badly he's hurt or how often it happens, he never takes advantage of it." He fished the lemon out of the tea with his straw, squeezed it against the side of the glass. "He'll lead one of the best teams out there someday. I want him to learn from me and Ray, the right way to lead, you know? That make me vain?"

"No." She patted his hand. "It's why you have the best team out there. Want to soak in the hot tub before dinner?"

"What are we having?"

"Sushi." She laughed at the face he made. "No? How about spaghetti?"

He perked up. "With garlic meatballs?"

"With garlic meatballs." She got up to go over and turn on the jets on the Jacuzzi tub. "Still on those muscle relaxants? They make you sleepy, don't go and drown on me." She teased. "Hop in, waters hot. Supper in an hour."

***000***

"I'm sorry." Stella set two mugs of mulled cider on the small table inside their rental cabin. "I had no idea it had rained so hard out here."

Had? Clay looked out the window. Still was.

It was after 10 o'clock. The drive had been easy, no traffic, but they'd run into rain an hour out from their destination and it hadn't let up.

"It'll be better in the morning." She said. "I hope. We can always go home."

"Or spend the next three days holed up in a cabin with a wood fire, mulled cider and nothing to do."

"Well, put that way…"

Morning came, but dawn didn't.

Clay woke up to heavy rain, grey clouds and windy conditions. He was showered and dressed before Stella stirred, rolling over.

"Time is it?" She asked sleepily.

"Almost 6." He picked up his car keys. "I'm running into town, coffee and breakfast, gimme an hour."

She was snug in bed and had no desire to get up and go out in the rain. "Bring back something we can cook for dinner."

"Will do." He gave her a kiss, pulled his hood up and went out the door.

Stella fell back asleep. 6 a.m. was early to be awake on vacation, but Clay's military clock didn't stop ticking because he wasn't at work or on a mission. Nope. Every day. 5 a.m. He was up and ready to go.

She woke up at 8, expected to hear Clay watching TV or smell breakfast, but nothing. The room was dark and quiet and empty. She didn't worry, got up to shower and get ready for the day. It was still raining, so no hiking to see the Falls. Maybe they could go into town, catch a movie and dinner or go bowling.

9 a.m. - He was more than two hours late coming back with breakfast.  
10 a.m. - She tried calling him. Call went directly to voicemail.  
11 a.m. - She pulled on a rain poncho and headed down to the rental office.  
Noon. - She was beyond hungry and annoyed. She was worried.  
1 p.m. - She knew what she was supposed to do when he was more than six hours past his time to call in or return.

()

"Jason?" Alana called. She hated to wake him up, he hadn't been sleeping well since being home. And it wasn't because he was staying in the guest room. "Jason?" Better he get up and walk into the kitchen and see what was in her hand then to wake him up, leaning over him with it.

He came into the kitchen, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. He yawned, took a glass out of the dish drain, filled it with ice from the fridge dispenser, added water.

"Time is it?" He stretched his back, stopped with a wince. "Shit."

She held out his flip phone. The burner phone that couldn't be tracked or traced. The phone that only 6 people had the number to. And those 6 people didn't include his wife or kids.

And there it was. The gut-gnawing began as shivers traveled his spine.

"Who?" he set the glass on the island, and made a fist to quell the shaking before it could start. "God Alana, what?" her look told him, she didn't have to say the words. "No fucking way." Jason breathed, bumping his forehead against the door frame. "Not happening. We're home." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, thumbed a number but didn't hit send. "Jesus Fucking Christ! We just got him back!" He took the flip phone from Alana. "Stella?"

Alana got up. She didn't know if she should step out and give him privacy or stay and offer emotional support. She looked down at the phone in Jason's other hand…Eric. Jason snapped his fingers at her, gestured for her to pick up her own phone. She sat back down and dialed Clay's cell phone number.

Eric was surprised Jason was calling him. His wife looked over at the familiar ring tone. She knew the CCR song identified the caller as Jason. Eric shrugged. He was enjoying his week off as much as Bravo was.

"Jason." Eric answered. "What's up? You're supposed to be resting."

"Dam busted on the Roanoke River, National Guard was sent in. Who can you contact for information?"

"Mmmm, flooding, yeah." Eric agreed. "Wait, what? That doesn't have anything to do with us."

"Spenser's in Eagle Rock with Stella. Left the motel this morning at 6 to get breakfast, never came back."

Eric was silent, then waved at his wife, snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Betty!" He hissed, she finally looked up. "Where is Eagle Rock?" He whispered.

"30 miles or so north of Roanoke." She replied. "Oh-oh?" She questioned. "Oh." She saw his face. "Oh no."

"What is he doing there and why didn't I know about it?" Eric asked calmly, taking the second cell phone his wife handed him. "Have you heard from him?"

"No."

"Any reason to suspect something happened?"

"Other than it's Spenser?"

"Right." Eric handed the phone connected with Jason to his wife, dialed the other cell phone and moved off.

"Hello Jason." Betty chirped. "How's the back? PT's going well, good to hear that."

Jason was quiet. He shouldn't be surprised his Commander's wife knew things she shouldn't. He knew Eric shared more with her than was 'allowed', but still, it always stunned him when she talked about things he didn't think she knew about.

"Just a bruise." Jason replied finally. "Getting plenty of rest."

"So, what's going on? Eric's calling the Pentagon."

Jason winced. He hadn't asked Eric to do that!

"Uh, it's on the news the National Guard was sent in to assist with flooding from a busted dam near Roanoke."

"Lot of rain in that area over the last week. The fools should have opened gates and let the water out, but nope." She sighed. She knew everything that was on the news. That was her job, to keep current on the news, so she could keep her husband informed. "So, which of your men is in the area?"

Damn, she was quick.

"Clay Spenser?" She guessed. Jason tended to be a bit over protective with that kid. She didn't blame him. Apparently the kid was the cause of everyone's grey hair. "Is he okay?"

"I'm sure he is." Jason lied.

"Liar."

Jason sighed. "He's been missing since this morning. He's not answering his phone, but service is spotty." Stella had no issues connecting with service from the cabin, but she couldn't reach Clay's cell either.

"Sat phone?"

Jason was quiet.

"You know Jason, as often as that boy is, uh, misplaced, you should order him to travel with a sat phone." Betty said gently. "I'd tell you not to worry, but you will, so don't fret with a bottle." She advised. "Here's Eric."

"Hey Jason, yeah, not much news. A lot of small towns in the area and a lot of campsites and remote resorts. There is severe flooding, but no reports of any injuries or deaths. I'll keep you posted with any updates I get."

"Thanks Eric, sorry to bother you, but…"

"But it's Spenser and if there's a way to get buried in a mudslide or drown in a flood, he's going to find it." Eric said. "I know Jason."

"Yeah." Jason hung up. Debated whether to call Ray or Sonny, just to talk, but no sense worrying them over what was probably nothing. If he needed to talk, he had Alana and Eric. He could call numerous friends that didn't know Spenser and wouldn't panic over the fact the kid was five hours away from them and apparently, possibly missing. Still, he'd feel a hell of a whole lot better, when he heard from the kid.

Eric hung up, sat down on the sofa, both phones on the coffee table in front of him. His wife curled up next to him, laying her head on her shoulder.

"What?" She said after a while of silence. "The boys?"

"We've been out of the country, got back two days ago. Thought he'd rest at home this week." He meant Clay and she knew it. "That kid..." he sighed. "He should be home.

"Aren't Brock and Trent out of town?" She asked. Whatever was really bothering her husband had something to do with being out of the country, but she'd yet to put her finger on it. "What is this really about Eric?"

"We just got back, no one watched the news, Spenser wouldn't have known about the rain or potential flooding."

"Aaah, but you feel Stella should have known."

"You did."

"Of course I did." Again, it was her job to know what was going on at home, no matter where or what or in what state. "Now Eric, that young girl did not deliberately take your man away to a dangerous place. That's nonsense."

"If she had told him about the weather, the potential of flooding, he wouldn't have gone."

"I'm sure he told Jason where he was going."

"Jason is medicated."

"Alana would have known. So blame Jason for not telling Alana where the kids were going." Betty chattered on, trying to bring Eric out of his cranky mood. "Stella is young, their relationship is new, she'll learn, you need to give her time. If you're willing to be patient with Clay, you can be with his girl as well." She sat up. "I'll help you pack."

"For what?"

"The drive to Roanoke." She rolled her eyes. "You can't possibly believe for one second, Jason's not driving out there."

"He…."

"Is medicated," she repeated. "You really want him to drive?"

()

Sonny rolled over, fumbled for the phone, knocked it off the nightstand, and of course, it had to hit the floor, not the mattress. Hanging off the side of the bed on his belly, he felt around with his fingertips until his head swam then oozed out of bed, slithering to the floor in a sweaty heap.

"Yo." He yawned, rolling onto his back, phone to his ear. He realized it was upside down and clumsily turned it right side up. "Yo."

"Sonny."

Boss? Sonny felt his beard, he'd been in bed with a sinus infection, a cold, the flu, something, so he hadn't showered in a day or so.

"Howdy, uh, Boss." He sniffed, reaching over his head for the box of tissues. Dammit, it was a huge ass box! How could he find Chap Stick and cough drops, but not a huge ass box of tissues?! "What's up?" Oh, wait, the box of tissues was on the bed.

"I wake you up?"

"Uh, yeah, probably. Maybe." He sat up, slumped against the nightstand, switched hands to hold the phone and yanked on the sheet to pull the box of tissues close enough he could snag one. Good God, if Jason had called just to see if he was sleeping, he was hanging up and turning off the phone.

No, no wait. He did that, Jason would either come over or send guys from their support team to check up on him.

"Get dressed." Jason said. "We'll pick you up in an hour. Enough time?"

"Uh…..um…...we?"  He sneezed.  "Time for what?"

"Eric's driving."

"For what?" He repeated, coughing into his shoulder.  He blew his nose, dropped the tissue onto the floor. "To get dressed? Guess so." The Nyquil was messing with his head. He hadn't had time to sleep it off. He really should take Dayquil during the day. Duh. "Uh, why?" Wait, their commander was driving? The fuck?! "Who's driving us where?"

"We're going on a road trip."

"We are?"

"Spenser's missing."

Sonny blinked, knocked his head with the heel of his head to unblock his suddenly blocked ears because it sounded like his boss had just said their kid was missing – again.

"Say that again?" Sonny crawled around the bed, headed to the bathroom where he pushed to his feet and splashed cold water on his face. "Cause it sounded like you said our kid was missing, but I heard wrong, right? Cause we're home. We're home Jason. You don't go missing from home."

"He's not home. He and Stella went away, a dam broke. National Guard was sent in. Eric's getting updates from DC, but communications are spotty, Stella's fine, she's safe, but his cell goes straight to voice mail."

"Dammit." Sonny looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Okay, come pick me up. I'll be ready in thirty."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I have no idea if there is any such dam anywhere near Roanoke, VA, but there is in this work of fiction!  
> One episode Trent and Brock were saying good-bye to girlfriends/fiancées/wives, so, go with it...  
> Also, again…..medical inconsistencies.

 

Tme to upgrade to a more practical, safe vehicle, and keep the muscle car for Sunday drives, Clay thought as he carefully navigated the road to town. His tires, though rated all-weather, did not grip well on slick roads and he kept to a speed of 40 to keep from hydroplaning.

Wouldn't that just go over well, wreck his car in this weather and just guess who would be notified. Well, Stella, first, if he were conscious. If not, once they ran his car tags, it would come back he was active military and who would get the call? Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn. Better than Jason, Clay chuckled. Of course, there was a military ID card in his wallet, identifying him only as Navy, not Special Forces. God knows who would end up getting the phone call then.

He slowed to 30 miles.

No telling when this rain would let up, best hit a grocery store and stock up enough food to last the length of their stay, not just dinner for tonight. He wondered if the resort were they were staying was in danger of flooding, but nah, they were higher in the mountains, the town though…...

Eh, they were good. He hadn't see any signs of flooding on the drive that took longer than it should have because he was doing, you know, 30 miles an hour.

When they had driven through the town the night before, everything had been closed. It wasn't a city by any means, but was a decent sized town. Restaurants, a movie theatre, stores, were all located on main street that was several blocks long.

He saw the red and yellow and blue flashing lights as he crossed the bridge over the high, fast-running river and turned onto the street and forgetting his reason for coming to town, drove directly to the parking lot where first responders and the Sheriffs department were gathered.

And that there, was the Virginia's National Guard. Oh-oh.

He parked, approached, wandered through the milling crowd and soon knew just what was going on.

"That dam's going to give way." someone was telling the man Clay identified as the Sheriff. "We need to start mandatory evacuations now. The Governor declared a state of emergency, the Guard is here, let's just get going."

"Aren't there gates you can open? Alleviate some of the pressure? Help eliminate the threat of destruction to home, property and person?" Clay asked. Stay out of it Spenser, get breakfast, your groceries, go back to Stella. Jason will kick your fucking ass.

Several people paused, turned to look at him. The Sheriff looked him up and down, weighing and judging. This here young man didn't speak like or look like some local yokel down from the hills to rubberneck and stick his nose in other people's business out of curiosity.

"There is. Should have opened them yesterday, but never can get those damn politicians to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. Too little, too late this time. As usual." someone answered.

"What is in danger if the dam is breached?"

"Sheriff Perkins." a man extended his hand.

Clay shook his hand. "Clay Spenser."

"Small towns will be cut off, some will flood, some are high enough they'll probably be okay."

"I'm in a rental up Eagle Rock, we good?"

"You're above the dam, but river might go over her banks and flood you in for several days, the roads will be too deep to navigate."

"Sheriff, we have enough boats, more are on their way, we're heading out, get out all we can before she gives way."

Now, Clay felt he should offer his help. "Can you use an extra set of capable hands?"

"Are you scared of water or boats?"

"Neither sir."

"Familiar with water rescue? The dangers of electrocution? Convincing people to leave their homes? Talking down people who are panicked?"

Clay shrugged. In his job, he shot first, never asked questions. "Can't say I'll ever be called a negotiator, but I can talk to people."

The Sheriff hesitated, wondered if he out right asked, whether the young man would admit it. "Are you active military?" Because he sure as hell acted like it, quite at ease around the Guard. Hadn't panicked over being told he could be flooded in for several days. And he'd said 'we', so he'd left someone behind at the cabin.

Clay nodded, shook his head. "I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"Welcome, pleasure to have you."

Clay lost track of time. His fault. He knew that. He did. But the next several hours were busy. Numerous trips were made by boat, from house to house to river dock, back to house, back to the docks. They'd yet to encounter anyone who didn't want to leave their homes. As long as they were permitted to bring their pets, they hopped right onto the boat, not knowing whether or not they'd have a home to return to.

They were on their way back to the dock, the boat full. He'd been told it was his turn to take a break and he welcomed it. Besides being cold and wet, he was tired, and hungry. He'd get something to eat, some hot coffee, no sense drying off or changing his clothes. It was raining too hard and he was in the water too often, he'd never stay dry. Maybe he could get a signal, reach Stella. It had to be close to noon, he didn't get through soon, he'd be in big trouble.

Some freaking vacation.

The boat bumped the dock. Clay helped everyone off, handed over kids and cats and dogs….a bird, told the men he'd catch up next trip and slugged his way through mud and muck and debris towards the direction of shelter and food.

Sheltered under a tent in a parking lot, he accepted a towel and a blanket from someone, shed his rain poncho, toweled his hair. Someone offered him a long-sleeved shirt and he took it, slinging it over one shoulder. It would feel great to be warm for half an hour or so even if his boots and jeans were soaked through. He tried again to call Stella, he'd tried numerous times all morning, but still, there was no signal.

He sat drinking coffee in wet jeans, blanket around his shoulders, lost in his misery of being wet and uncomfortable. Someone handed him a sandwich. He took it without looking up, merely muttered thanks, wondered why the simple action of riding on a boat and helping people off their porches and into it, was so exhausting.

"You next?" a medic stopped in front of him. "Rough morning out there, huh?"

"Feels like I've been at it all day." Clay responded.

"You're on a rescue team?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."

"You been out on the water all morning, huh?"

Clay wasn't paying any attention to what the medic was doing. He wanted another cup of coffee. The warm, dry blanket made him just warm enough to feel sleepy.

"Uh yeah, so? I...OW!" he yelped. "What the…?"

"Just a shot."

"OF WHAT?" Clay exclaimed, dropping the sandwich. "Why?" Oh, he was wide awake now.

The medic looked surprised. "Flood waters."

"So? And?" he whipped his head around. "I didn't drink any….HEY!" A second shot in the same arm had him leaping to his feet. He frantically felt at the back of his jeans, but his waistband was empty. Right, he wasn't armed. Why would he be?

"Whoa there dude." The medic held his hands up, backed away. "I was told to give anyone on a rescue team a tetanus shot and a vaccination for hepatitis."

Oh, Trent was not going to like this. Not at all. They'd just given him two shots. Ohnoohnoohnoohnoohno.

"Why?"

"Aah, flood waters? Mud, animal carcasses, raw sewage, waste water," the medic was saying. ""Relax."

"I'm up to date on all shots and vaccinations and inoculations." Clay moaned. He shuddered at the memory of Sonny and Jason chasing him down, catching him after he'd recovered from throwing a reaction to a booster shot. "Not again." He did not remember what reaction he'd thrown, but apparently his team did. Nor did he know what the doctor had given him to counteract his symptoms. Trent did. But Trent was away at a wedding. Shit, he was fucked.

"Red team's back!"

His break over, the shots forgotten, Clay pulled the dry Henley over his head, took a dry rain coat and headed out to rejoin the men on his boat. He'd have rather had a longer break, but it was time to go back.

Clay had no idea what time it was or how many trips they'd made.

The rain had yet to let up. Visibility was limited, at times, non-existent. Continuing in near darkness in debris filled water was dangerous to everyone. No one wanted to call quits to rescuing attempts, but it was obvious this was going to be red team's last trip.

The water was now rushing, tugging and tossing the boat whose motor was no match for the fast moving waters. The current was rougher, stronger, causing rapids when it hit an obstruction it couldn't move out of its way. The man piloting the boat turned to head back towards the river that led to the dock.

The boat bumped into something solid.

Shit. Clay made a grab for a kid, who caught off balance, tipped over backwards into the water. Missing him, Clay launched over the side of the boat after him. A strong swimmer, he was able to grab the boy before the current caught him and returned him to the reaching arms of two men in the boat.

Clay had just handed him up when there was a loud roar, a siren blew and the boat bobbed.

Clay went under when the current rushed against him. He thought maybe he could touch ground, but nope. The water was over his head. Waves, yes waves, crashed around him as he fought to the surface. Hands reached out of the boat for him, grabbing for his hands, his raincoat, anything.

"The dam blew!"

He saw the boat buck and overturn. Before he could even start to swim towards it, something hit him in the back close to his right hip and he knew no more.

*** _picking up Sonny_ ***

Sonny sat on the side of his tub. Tossed his phone. Where it landed, he didn't know. Didn't care.

Everyone teased him, pooh-poohed him, Jason laughed at him, but he had friends outside Bravo. Oh yes he did. And one of them was a technology geek. Just wait until he got his hands on Spenser this time.

An ice cube and a needle and he'd pierce that little fucker's ear. A GPS tracking device could be worn as an earring. Fuck cell service, as long as there was a satellite, he'd never lose that kid again. And if he ever took the earring out to spite him, well, Sonny was bigger. True, the kid could hold his own, but if he and Jason tag-teamed the kid, he wouldn't be able to wriggle free.

HA! Take that, you little prick. See how well you like me then.

Sonny hung his head. There were plenty of missions, jobs, times that came and went without mishap. Everything and everyone was fine. They left with Clay, they returned with Clay. And everyone forgot how easy he was to lose because everything went _fine._ Then bam, next time, they turned around and Spenser wasn't where he should be and there was no possible way on this God given green earth the kid could have just disappeared, but he did. One second he was there, the next second he was just gone.

What was it about this kid that made them all so...so...so...protective? What was it, that because he missed checking in with the girlfriend, his team loaded up and drove five hours to go get his ass?

Trent was in West Virginia, no one had heard from him, but they weren't hauling ass to find him! Course, he wasn't allegedly missing either.

He shook the mood off. Right, okay, he needed a shower. He smelled, his skin was sticky and his hair was matted and greasy. Hell, his teeth were fuzzy. Not going never crossed his mind. Jason called, he would go. Hell, he would go if Jason was out of town and he'd been the one to get the call. Something had happened, he didn't doubt it...it was Spenser. If that kid was hurt, if something had happened to him, people were going to answer to Sonny Quinn and if he didn't like what he heard, heads were gonna roll.

So, he showered, washed his hair, brushed his teeth, got dressed, packed. He boiled water and made himself a cup of tea, ate cold chicken out of the fridge. He was pouring a pot of coffee into a thermos when the horn honked outside. It was going to be a long drive, he'd sleep most of it, but Eric would appreciate the coffee and the sticky buns he grabbed on the way out the door.

"I get to you and you're fine, you won't be." Sonny vowed as he locked his door. He leaned against the wall for a second. "And if you're not, please let us get there in time."

***000***

Clay groaned, light beamed in front of and into his closed eyes, sending a bolt of pain down the back of his neck. Turning his face away, he raised a hand to either push the source of his discomfort away or block it, but neither hand responded.

Fighting slight panic of the unknown, his eyes popped open…and immediately closed again. He was blinded by light. Not dim daylight. Not a grey overhead sky. Not cold, heavy rain. Light from light bulbs.

So, a hospital?

Oh shit, he was fucked if that is where he was. He'd never again as long as he ran with Bravo, be allowed off-leash to go on vacation. Sorry, Stella…..Stella? Where was Stella? He could hear voices and though distant and distorted, he didn't think any of them were Stella.

He lay still, remained quiet, tried to think, let his mind wander, kept his eyes closed, unwilling to risk another run-in with the bright lights.

Where was he? What had happened? He tried to remember…tried to focus. He knew the order of events, if he could recall them, was important….so was the time. But, he didn't know why.

Oh, right. Yeah.

Would Stella do as she'd been taught? Call the number on his burner cell that he'd left behind with her at the cabin, labeled 'Team Doc' and get Jason on his burner phone.

Did he want her to do that? Why would she? He'd gone out for breakfast. Man, he really wished that light would go away, it made his head hurt. And it stopped him from thinking straight. Something wasn't right.

He smelled bread. Was he having a stroke? Why would he have a stroke? No, wait….wait…..you smelled toast, not bread if you were having a stroke. So, bread usually meant dinner. Was it dinner time then? What happened to breakfast?

"…...scrub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub….."

His eyes went wide, eyelashes hitting eyebrows….despite the pain from the brutal overhead light, he stared. Oh, his vision was indeed blurry with black spots from exhaustion, pain, the lights, but he clearly, blurrily saw two, little ole ladies seated on the floor on either side of him, each holding his hand and…...uh, washing them?

He must have banged his head harder then he'd thought – and he didn't remember banging it at all – for he blinked, and now there were three little ole ladies. He blinked again, wanting to hold his forehead. No, only two ladies and the vision was real. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, each holding his hands and uh, washing…wiping them with a strong soap and, he sniffed, Clorox? Since when did Clorox wipes smell like bread? He needed to know where to get some.

Now the smell of antiseptic hit him…..aah, there was the smell of Clorox. So, he was in the hospital.

Dear God, he needed to fight through this fog, come out of this stupor… _where the fuck was he?_ Because that there was a washing machine and no hospital he'd ever been in – and he'd been in many, in many different countries – had a washing machine in the room.

"Don't touch your face." He was warned.

"We fished you right out of the river."

"So dirty."

"Who would have thought we'd catch something so fine." His hand was held, patted, petted. "Oooh…..he's sooooo….fiiinneee."

"We were hoping for dinner."

"But we caught you instead."

Nothing about this situation was in his control. And he didn't like that. Was he awake? Dreaming? Hallucinating? Dead?

"Here now ladies," said a male voice Clay didn't recognize. "What have we here?"

"We went fishing for dinner."

"Look what we caught."

Dinner, Clay thought. So, it was that late. Oh-oh.

"He's a stranger." The man sighed, it was useless to argue and he knew it. "How many times I have I told you girls, you can't just bring strange men home."

"We couldn't very well just leave him in the river, now could we?"

"Besides, we caught him."

"You let us keep the turtle we caught."

Hey, not a turtle, Clay thought with a frown.

"You can't keep him."

Aah, keep me? Sorry ladies, Stella's going to have something to say about that.

"He's ours. We caught him, we get to keep him."

Caught him? He'd been captured? Theirs? Not for long. No way in hell Bravo would stand for that. Nope, they wouldn't allow him out of their sights for long. Watch out ladies, they'll be coming to get me.

He almost giggled, would have if trying to do so hadn't hurt so much. Ouch! Huh, weird. Now why did that hurt?

The man sighed again. Best to let it go for now. The young man sprawled on the floor of the laundry room was most likely one of the rescue men doing evacuations, but there was no way to convince the ladies of that just yet. "How did you get him here?" Because he doubted the man had walked.

Where was here, Clay wanted to ask, but his thoughts and ability to think were all over the place and the question went poof, right out of his head.

"He was bobbing in the water."

"Floated him right into the wagon."

"Margie pulled, we pushed."

"He's quite heavy."

Clay groaned, the vision of the humiliating scene hanging out and over a wagon, arms and legs all akimbo, enough to make him blush.

"We got him to the house but he tried to crawl away."

"Had to grab an ankle and drag him."

"Whack his hands with the broom."

"He wouldn't let go of the railing."

"Strong little bugger."

Time to bolt, Clay decided. Well, he tried. Mostly, he just flailed.

"Whoa! Whoa there buddy," the man said. "Easy fella, just relax. No need for you to go anywhere. They mean you no harm."

Not because he felt the need to obey the voice, but because he didn't remember what happened, where he was and despite the explanation of the wagon ride, how he got there, Clay went limp on the floor. He was too muddled and disoriented to think, let alone act and be able to carry through on those actions.

_Why couldn't he think?_

"My name is Louis. No need to fear me. You're safe here."

Was he?

Louis wondered what injuries the man on his floor might have suffered. Though apparently conscious, he was definitely not coherent. Shock? Infection? Blood loss? Broken bones? What harm might the ladies have caused bumping him around in the wagon? He was too wet and dirty and mud-covered to even begin to guess.

"Millie, Maggie, why are you washing his hands?" Louis rubbed his head. How best to proceed?

"He was in the river."

"The damn broke, you know."

"He wants to touch his face.

"Can't have him touching his face with hands dirty from the river."

"It'll make him sick."

Aah, Louis nodded, true. But he needed to distract the ladies while he found Margie.

"You know," Louis said calmly. "It's not just his hands that are dirty."

The ladies exchanged a look, dropped his hands, they fell to the floor with a thumpity-thud, Clay too disoriented to take control of their abrupt release. Millie clapped hers together and she knelt as if in prayer, her eyes wide.

"You mean….do we…can we….?"

"Get to _bathe_ him?"

"Yes." Louis nodded just as Clay yelped. "NO!"

*** _driving with Eric_ ***

Sonny slumped into the comfortable leather clad corner of Eric's SUV. Must be nice to be able to afford such luxury, there was even an afghan that he pulled across his lap for warmth. Oh, the backseat had its own heating vents and the seats even had warmers, but yeah, a yarn-crocheted afghan was a different, higher level of comfort.

They waited at a red light, his head against the window and he was nearly asleep, when the directional highway sign caught his attention.

"Where are we going?" He sat up. "Hey, wait….." he paused, thinking. "Ray didn't want to go?"

"Didn't call him." Jason didn't turn around.

"Wait, what?" Sonny popped up between the front seats. "Hey now, that's bullshit."

"He has two kids and a bum ankle." Jason replied. "Let him bond with the baby."

"He's mobile without crutches and it isn't your decision to make." Sonny snapped. "Jesus Christ Jason, we've been through this. Give us the choice, don't keep making it for us."

Eric pulled over and idled on the berm, patiently waited for his two men to argue it out. If he got on the highway, it was several miles to the next exit if they had to back track to pick up Ray.

Sonny pulled his cell out when Jason didn't move. He thumbed Ray's number and smirked into the rearview mirror.

"Hey, Sonny, what's up?" Ray answered. "How you feeling? Any better? Fucked up way to spend a vacation, huh?"

Well, part of the reason for the vacation was Sonny's illness, but whatever.

"Clay and Stella went to the mountains, he went out for breakfast this morning, never came back."

"Let me guess, Roanoke, where the dam broke." Ray said with a sigh. Oh yeah, he could guess. "Stella call it in?"

"She's fine. Eric's having her picked up and taken somewhere safe. Did as she was taught, when he was six hours over due, called the burner phone."

"Mmmmhmmm…..Jason?"

"He's right here."

"Which one of you isn't driving?" Oh, he knew they were on their way to Roanoke, but neither were fit to drive.

"I'm snug as a bug in a rug in the backseat."

Ray sighed again. Jason was on muscle relaxants, he shouldn't be driving, but maybe he was in the better shape of the two of them.

"Jason claimed shotgun." Sonny was saying. "Dunno if this is Eric's personal car or government, but man, I'd like to be able to afford a used one someday."

The flood of relief that hit Ray when he heard Eric was driving made his knees weak, and he sat down. So, Jason had called their Commander, well, okay, then thank God for that.

"Gimme 15." Ray said.

"On our way." Sonny said and ended the call. "See how easy that was? Now, are you calling Trent or Brock?" His thumb was hovering, ready to hit send. "I'll dial the other."

"There's no need," Jason began.

"There's every need." Sonny snapped, temper flaring. "You're hurt, I'm sick, Ray's hobbling. The kid isn't going to be found sipping tea in café Jason. We're not getting out of this truck and calling, 'Here Spense, come here boy, time to go home.' We're going to have to spread out and beat down doors and kick over rocks and hope to hell we don't find him at the bottom of some flooded road."

()

The ceremony was over, the reception in full swing when Trent's phone buzzed. His wife felt it vibrate against her hip. She rolled her eyes. Even in a formal suit at a wedding, that phone was in his pocket. For it to buzz now, told her she was soon to be left on her own. Someone, somewhere had better be threatening national security and the every day way of life for Americans.

His team, his boss – and she didn't mean Jason – knew where he was. They wouldn't call him just because….well, just because.

She took his hand and stepped out into a hallway with him, standing aside while he took the call. He didn't immediately tense, didn't send her 'that look', didn't start pacing and she relaxed. Whew, he wasn't about to hop a plane and take off to God knew where, for no one knew how long.

"How far are we from Roanoke?" He asked her.

"Couple hours. Why? The dam broke near there Trent. Heavy flooding. We aren't driving home that way…." She realized he was still on the phone. "What is it?"

"Stella and Clay were in the mountains, he's missing, she's safe."

"In Roanoke?"

"Eagle Rock."

Close enough. She didn't need to hear any more. She'd gotten to know Stella while their men were on missions together. While strong and independent, Stella was new to the relationship with Clay and to living life with a Navy Seal...it wasn't ever easy.

"Okay then, let's go check out and get on the road. You can fill me in while we drive. I'll stay with Stella while you join your team looking for him." She didn't need to be told Bravo would meet them there, she already knew that. "Brock?" she asked once Trent had hung up.

"He's at the naval base in Norfolk, he's flying in."

"Come on, let's go get your boy."


	3. Chapter 3

"I need a phone." Clay mumbled. "Hafta call in…..I don't…I can't…"

Huh, that is not what Louis had expected the boy to say next.

"Fraid not out here." Louis said apologetically. "Land lines are down, no cell reception in this rain."

Great. Just fucking great. Always his luck.

"Time is it?" Clay asked around a thick tongue, sore cheek. And why did it matter what time it was? God, he wished he knew.

"Uh, bit before 4." Louis replied.

Oh dear, oh no, oh shit, oh fuck me. _If I'm not dead, I'm sure as hell gonna be._

He slipped and flopped on the wet floor. His clumsy attempts to sit up did not succeed. For some reason, his body simply would not respond. His knees wouldn't bend, his heels wouldn't find the floor, his hands wouldn't rise. He lay flat, gave up trying to sit up and tried instead to catch his breath.

His eyes were closed against the overhead light that was doing its best to kill him. No, really. It hurt his eyes, which made his head ache, which turned his stomach, which threatened to revolt and trying to breathe to control his roiling stomach, made him aware just how much his back hurt.

"Tr'nt?" He slurred. His legs were splayed, palms firmly on the floor but for the life of him, he simply could not pull it together and sit up, let alone gain his feet.

He was cold and wet and every limb and finger and toe he currently possessed – and please Lord, let him still have them all – was too heavy to move. His body was wracked with shudders, his chest heaved, he wheezed and his breath rattled in his throat as he gulped. Hell, even his teeth clacked. Everything was hazy. Activity continued around him but he couldn't place the people or where he was; he was detached, floating, lost, unanchored.

Oh God, he didn't feel well.

"Millie! Maggie! What are you doing to the boy?" Margie sailed through the door, a whirlwind of apron, towels and blankets. "I told you to get him out of those wet clothes." She always had to be the voice of reason with her two sisters. "Have you given him any coffee? The poor boy is laying there, all wet and shivering."

"Do you take it black?" Millie asked Clay. "We have milk and sugar, if you prefer. Maggie has some of that vanilla-hazel flavoring. Give it a few weeks and she'll have ginger and pumpkin and spice, whatnot."

"Drink now. It's not instant." Maggie said. "It's good."

Like that would matter. How many cups of instant coffee did they drink on missions? It was one thing to light a fire and heat water, quite another to perc coffee beans over an open flame. But he wasn't supposed to drink coffee unless Trent said it was okay to do so, he just didn't know why. Odd, his head didn't hurt, so he should be able to think and speak coherently, but he couldn't. Everything was foggy, distant, just out of reach.

He was sitting up – how'd that happen? – mug of coffee in his hands, the warmth felt good against his fingers and he sipped it. It was black and strong and oh so good that he forgot all about what Trent said.

Louis rubbed the back of his neck. "Marge." He raised his head. "You helped them bring him up to the house?"

"I did." she confirmed. "Would you rather I have let him drown? Leave him out in this rain to catch his death?"

"No." He pointed at Millie and Maggie. Margie nodded.

"Maggie? Do I smell biscuits wanting to burn?" Maggie was easy to distract, all you had to do was tell her someone needed to be fed. "He's probably hungry.

Maggie's hands clapped her cheeks. "My biscuits!" She gasped. "Nice, warm bread will make him feel all better."

"Maybe some stew?" Margie prompted.

"I have carrots in the garden!" Maggie clapped her hands and whirled away.

That left Millie.

"Millie, he's quite dirty." Margie said. "Just look at your floor." If there was something to clean, Millie would spend all day scrubbing.

Millie cocked her head sideways. "He is, isn't he? I'll find a scrub brush. We'll have him clean in no time." She looked at Clay. "Don't you worry," she said kindly, reaching to pat his cheek but pulled her hand back when she didn't see any clean skin on his face. "I'll be gentle."

She toddled off to….well, do something. Find a bucket and scrub brush, maybe.

Um, scrub brush? Not happening. But Clay didn't move, just sat there, trying to wrap his head around what they wanted…..who they were…where he was…why he was with them…what had happened….wondering why he was going to be scolded for drinking hot coffee.

"What are we going to do with him?" Louis asked.

"We aren't the only ones stranded in this flood. Surely, sooner or later, someone will come looking to rescue more people. We'll send him away then."

"They want to keep him."

Margie laughed. "Of course they do. I let them keep you, didn't I?"

"Because I had no one, nowhere to go, but he does." Louis said gently. "I needed someone to take care of me, and I needed someone to care about, but he has that. He does and they are going to want him back."

Margie nodded. True, all true. When her sisters had fished Louis out of the river some 20 years ago, he'd been skinny, malnourished, unshaven, wearing rags, bad teeth, and a homeless drunkard. This boy….well…..he was fit and fine and yes, he had someone to go home to.

"They know that Louis, no harm letting them fuss. Now, let's get him out of those clothes." Margie said with a sigh. "I don't care what todays scientists and current research say, he'll catch his death with a wet head."

"Wait for me!" Millie called. "Now, where is that brush?"

"We will." Louis called back. "Go see what Maggie's up to. She can't still be pulling carrots out of her garden. We'll need their help to get him off this floor."

Clay didn't feel threatened, but neither did he feel completely safe. The fog just wouldn't clear from his head and though somethings were clear, other facts remained elusive. He didn't fight the hands that took the mug from him and tugged and pulled at his shirt, the rain poncho long gone, but when he opened his eyes to see who was doing what, the light finally got him.

It won. It flickered, dimmed, flickered, came back on brighter than before and he couldn't bounce back from its punishing beam. His heart galloped, ran amuck, thudded, seized, stole his breath, that he'd yet to catch, and galloped some more. Ow. Man, it hurt to breathe, hurt to swallow, hurt to lick his lips, hurt to move his tongue. Why was his mouth so sore?

Pant, lick, bite. Pant, lick, bite. Pant, lick, bite. Pant, pant, pant….gasp, pant, pant, pant. Don't be sick….don't be sick….goddammit, don't be sick!

He was sick

Shivering and panting, he gagged - on bile, on spit. Ow! He coughed, spitting and spewing coffee and river water he hadn't known he'd swallowed. Hands reached out, guided him down onto his side. His head was lifted and laid back down on something soft. He tried to see what was going on, but everything was blurry and when he again saw three ladies, he gave up trying to see anything. He lay trapped between awareness and unconsciousness, a state he couldn't break through.

Huh, would he remember any of this? Did he ever?

Before he could really comprehend the 'what and why', his boots and his socks were removed. He stirred in protest as his jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled but before he could do more than growl, or you know, separate hand from wrist, he was shoved and rolled then rolled the other way. And not to gently either. Trent was never gentle. He was always all, hurry up and see the extent of any and all injuries. Hell, he usually just cut their clothes off.

"Here I am!" Millie sang. Clay heard a plop and a splash. "Ready for me?"

"You're really going to let her bathe him?" Louis said doubtfully.

"You want him clean, don't you?" Margie countered then chuckled. "Relax, just his hair. Well, his ears. Maybe his face and neck. His hands are already clean and the rest of him just needs to be dried off."

"That water soaked his clothes Marge, he needs a good washing with a good soap."

"Then get it done while she's occupied with his hair."

Aah-oooh, warm water, God, that felt good! The abrasive brush or sponge they were using? Not so much. Fingers dug into his scalp, pulled through his tangled hair. Back to his jeans – going lower. He didn't care if they were removed. Indeed, it would feel great to be out of the wet, heavy denim but his back and hip were screaming…...or was that him?

He began to shiver.

Clay heard the previously calm voices notch up an octave in alarm. Apparently, he shook and trembled so violently, whoever was bathing, scrubbing and washing him thought he was having a seizure. Maybe he was, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop.

More movement, frantic activity, a flurry of motion. Hands pulled him upright, hands washed his back and neck and shoulders, but sitting up made his head flood and he fought not to puke. Again he lost. Again hands guided him down, turned him to his side .

"Good Lord, how much water could he have swallowed?"

"He wasn't sick before this."

"Must be Maggie's coffee."

"Too strong for him."

"Not good, not good."

"The filth, the bacteria."

"That's green."

"Mold, you think?"

"Someone is missing this boy." Louis was saying. "He is military."

"National Guard is here." Margie said.

"With this hair? Look at these curls." Millie sniffed, whacked Louis with a towel before tossing it onto the growing pile of wet, soiled ones on the floor. "He's so dirty."

"He wears a chain." Louis pointed to Clay's neck. "See? Those funny markings that aren't tanned."

"So."

"So it means he spends a lot of time in the sun and he doesn't take it off. Dog tags." Louis crowed triumphantly.

"Where are they now?" Millie raised an eyebrow. "Dog tags, silly name."

"All I'm saying is, this boy belongs to someone and they will be looking for him."

"No wedding ring." Millie pointed out.

"Won't be a wife who comes knocking on our door." Louis said. Or comes kicking it in, but he didn't want to upset the ladies.

"Let's just make him comfortable and wait and see." Margie said.

Finally, panting for his breath and unable to catch it, stomach muscles unable to eject anything more, he was lifted, jostled, juggled and carried. His head ached and he didn't know why. He really wished it didn't; Trent was going to throw an epic fit. The last thing he remembered was Louis, a blurry wavering image, patting his cheek, thumbing open one eye then the other.

"Leave his clothes, I'll launder them, see if any of the mud will come out."

***000***

Flown in by chopper, Brock arrived first. He was dropped off and he easily walked into town, finding the parking lot that was obviously the rescue efforts command center. Showing his military ID soon got him to the man in charge; National Guard Captain Morris.

"How can I help you?" the Captain asked.

"I'm looking for this man." He held out his phone. A photo of Clay in full military gear, all patches on his shoulder visible, was displayed. It wouldn't have to be said what and who Brock and Clay were. The gear and uniform shown in the photo would say it for him.

The Captain was silent. So, Navy Seals. Elite Unit. Probably Tier One. And looking for one of their own.

"He's here on vacation." Brock said patiently. "Thought maybe he offered to help."

"Sheriff Perkins coordinated rescue teams this morning. He's right over there."

"Thank you." Brock snapped his fingers and Cerberus trotted after him. "Sheriff Perkins?"

"Yes?"

Brock held out his phone. "Have you seen this man today?"

"Clay Spencer." The Sheriff nodded. So, he'd been right. The man was not only military, but on a Navy Seal Elite Unit. Oh, he knew the uniform well. And here was one of his teammates. He just bet the rest of the squad was on its way. "He was out with red team all morning."

"Any idea where he might be now?" Brock asked calmly. "We haven't been able to reach him."

We. There it was. Oh yeah, they were coming.

The Sheriff shook his head. "Cells are out, satellite is spotty. I'm sorry. They were out just off the river when the dam gave way. Mr. Spenser had gone in the water after a boy who had fallen out of the boat, so he wasn't on it when it slammed into a tree and capsized."

"So, there were survivors?"

"The family who they were bringing to safety and one of the men from the rescue team," the Sheriff said. "The body of one from the rescue team was recovered, the other two are still unaccounted for."

"Presumed dead?" Brock appeared calm, but was anything but. If they ended up losing Clay in their home state…..

The Sheriff shook his head. Brock hadn't asked if the body that had been recovered was Spenser, how had he known that it wasn't? "We're still looking for them. We're able to launch boats, though not as many."

Brock nodded. "Thank you."

Finding Clay wasn't going to be easy. It would be dark by the time the team arrived and they were able to head out. They would need boats and it wouldn't be fair to take any away from local relief and rescue operations. They could demand them, and they would get them, as well as many men as they wanted but again, relief efforts should come first.

Should he head out with one of the rescue teams now? Or wait for the rest of Bravo? There was no way to communicate with them, so….right, he'd check the tents here, then shelters and the hospital, make sure no unconscious or deceased men had been brought in. By the time he finished, Trent would have arrived and the rest of Bravo wouldn't be far behind.

Eric had resources and options and it would be best, they either stayed together or split into teams. Come hell or high water…hahahaha…..one way or another, dead or alive, they would find their kid and bring him home.

***000***

His belly was….uh….being….petted? Stroked? Petted and stroked. He raised a hand to make it stop, but his attempt was ineffective. He was just soooooo tired...weak, the effort to move too much.

"So, oooooh, tight."

"Mmmm, shoulders. Mmmmm, muscled arms."

"Look, can't pinch an inch. No jelly belly on him."

"Honestly you two," Margie sighed. "I said, see if he's awake." She swatted at Mille. "Stop pinching him."

"He's not." Millie removed her hands from Clay's stomach. "But Marge, he's awfully warm." She put a palm to his forehead. "Feel him."

"Any excuse to touch the poor boy," Louis teased. "You sure it's not you having a hot flash?"

"Way past those symptoms." Millie sniffed. "I'm telling you, he's running a fever."

"He can't be," Margie said. "From what? He has a bruise on his butt. That's it. With no cuts or gashes, there's no infection."

"He swallowed river water." Millie shuddered.

Margie pushed past Maggie to put the back of her hand to Clay's cheeks. She frowned, he was warm. And yes, his cheeks were flushed. Well, damn.

"Here," Louis handed Margie two pills and a cup of water.

Clay roused to take the pills but balked when he saw they were blue.

"Blue bad." He muttered, shaking his head. "No."

"Blue badge? Oh! Blue Bloods?" Maggie clapped her hands, a habit both she and Millie had that drove Clay nuts. "Excellent show! Remember Tom Selleck as Magnum? Oh, I do." She leaned over and pinched his nose. His reflective action was to open his mouth to breathe and Margie popped in the blue pills and flooded his mouth with water.

"Orange." He said when he stopped gagging. But he wasn't sure why he said that. "Blue bad, orange is…"

"Oh, that show? Orange is the new blue? No, we don't get that station here. Haven't seen it." Said Maggie. "Here, you're shivering, have some coffee."

"Yes, pumpkins are orange." Said Millie. "But she doesn't chunk pumpkins to flavor coffee, silly."

All the constant chatter, the fast flipping between the M&M trio made his head spin. Clay took the mug and held it. The warmth felt good and boy, did he want to drink it, but something made him hesitate.

"Drink." Maggie ordered. He drank.

He was warm and dry, out of the cold rain, cutting wind and rough water, mostly likely safe, but he didn't feel right. Nothing felt right. Not his head, not his stomach, not his chest, not his back, not his arm – which hurt like a bitch….nothing.

He was offered soup, warm bread, more coffee and he took it, thinking after a nap, he'd get up, get dressed and try to find his way back to town or the command center…..somewhere where he'd easily be found.

It didn't go that way. Nothing ever went the way it was supposed to. Nope, not for Clay.

He slept, but he didn't awaken after a short nap.  
He shivered, they gave him coffee.  
He shook, they added more blankets.  
He broke out in a sweat, they cooed and bathed his face.  
He tried to rub a cramp out of his calf or grab his toes, his hands were held.  
Bruise on his back/bruise, they applied ice.  
He had goosebumps, they gave him coffee, chicken soup.  
He rubbed his head, they gave him medicine.  
He cried out, they fed him; soup, eggs, ham.  
He threw up, they gave him saltines.  
Starve a fever? Oh, hell no, they didn't.  
Keep him hydrated? They sure did.  
Comfort him, they didn't know he needed it.  
Take care of him, they thought they were.  
Help him, they didn't know how.

"How's he doing?" Margie asked Louis.

"Thinking maybe he's got an injury we don't understand. Or that bruise on his lower back is more than a bruise."

"Serious, you think? I thought rescue relief would have knocked on the door by now."

"We're above the dam, probably so bad below it, they aren't branching out until morning."

"Should we go look for someone? We can walk along the river until we lose ground."

"Too risky in the dark. Don't know what and where is flooded."

Margie nodded, she agreed. But their guest was pale and groggy and unresponsive. They simply didn't know enough about giving medical care to know about breathing, pulse or heart rate, or possible signs of internal bleeding.

"I'm sure he'll be fine in the morning." Louis said. "I'll sit with him awhile, go get some sleep."

"Think you'll be okay alone with him?"

Louis hid a smile behind his hand. Like Margie would be of any help if the young man decided to attack him.

"He's asleep Margie, I'll come along in a bit."

***000***

Brock had found nothing and no information on Clay in the various tents around the command center. Tired, wet, cold and hungry, he joined Stella at the National Guard shelter where he told her what he'd learned and they waited there together for the rest of Bravo.

When Trent and Janine arrived before Bravo, having been told by Jason where to find Stella - it was the meet-up destination for them all - the two teammates left Janine with Stella and Cerberus to wait for the rest of Bravo, while they headed to the hospital and public shelters.

The bodies that had been recovered, and there were several, had been taken to the hospital. Their military ID's gained them access to the morgue where they were relieved not to find Clay. They didn't find him at any of the seven shelters either and when they returned to the parking lot command center, no further news on the missing men from red rescue team had been reported.

By the time they returned to the girls, Jason and the others had joined them. After a quick snack of coffee and bagels, the six men headed out to the command center where Eric didn't hesitate to flash around his ID and badge or whatever. Soon, he had use of three rubber, motorized rafts that Captain Morris could not use in the dark on such rough waters, unwilling to risk any men.

Eric had no such reservations about his men or the dark or the danger or how unsafe the boats were. They split into teams: Brock and Ray, Sonny and Trent, Eric and Jason.

Armed with sat phones in their pockets, flashlights and beacons, maps of the area, information on the directional flow of the river and its tributaries, the pull of the current and advice of how far the currents were predicted to carry debris, they headed out.

Despite the dark and the danger, there were a few boats were out rescuing people from flooded homes. Though each man on Bravo felt they should offer help, the rescue operations were well commanded, so they continued on with their search. Everyone they encountered had the same response: No, no bodies had been spotted; no, no one had reported any missing men spotted at any home or store or building.

They met up after three hours at their previously discussed designated place. Frustrated, annoyed, scared, they made new plans.

"Several hours before dawn, I say we keep going."

"There's nowhere else to look in this range."

"Less we drag with poles and start poking."

"What's that?"

"Uh, a town."

"Outskirts of one anyway."

"Too far away for the current to have carried anyone."

"It's Clay, don't put anything past him."

"He can swim."

"He'd head to high ground."

"Let's go."

"Ya'll do know, we get ahold of him, I'm gonna hang him upside down 'til he pukes." Sonny was miserable. Fucking rain. Well, least he couldn't feel his nose run anymore. Tissues were useless in this rain.

"Let's just find him first." Ray said, just as miserable as Sonny. The rain was relentless. Well, least he was so cold and numb his ankle didn't throb anymore.

"You two good?" Eric asked. "I don't need anyone with pneumonia."

"I'm good." Sonny insisted. "Let's go, we all got enough gas?"

"We've got paddles, we don't." Eric replied.

Great, just great. Paddle a rubber raft in this rain with these rapids and waves against this current, and of course, they were heading upstream.

Ugh.

Sonny sighed, nodded. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

Eric climbed the steps on the porch of a well-maintained older Victorian home. Unlike the other homes whose doors he'd been knocking on, this one had lights on. Even if he didn't find Clay, maybe they'd be willing to part with a cup of coffee and a cookie or two.

He knocked and waited. Everyone had picked a street and started going door to door. His ears were tuned to noises most people either couldn't hear or didn't pay attention to and he heard the quick, pitter-patter of feet crossing a wood floor and expected a child to open the door.

The door flung wide opened, a little ole lady screeched….."LAWKS!"…and the door flung shut in his face.

Good Grief, he might be wet and bedraggled, but he didn't think he looked that bad.

"Maggie?" he heard someone yell from the depths of the house. "Who is at the door?"

"Wrong number!" he heard the lady on the other side of the door yell back.

The hell? Eric just waited.

More footsteps, shushed whispers, more voices, the door opened a crack, shut, opened again, shut, opened wider, and Eric could see the little ole lady attempting to push it closed with both hands, feet planted firmly on the floor. Good God, she even grunted. She was picked up and set aside and the door swung wide.

"Go away." She told Eric. "You're wet. You can't come in."

"Come in." Louis invited. "Maggie, let the man in."

"No." She tried to close the door. "Leave." She told Eric.

"Maggie, we have a guest. Perhaps he's hungry."

"I have cinnamon rolls ready to come out of the oven." Maggie brightened. "I'm making icing."

And oh, Eric could smell them. Wait until Brock got a whiff, freaking bean-pole with a sweet tooth, never gained a pound.

"And mulled cider warming, be right back. Millie won't like him in the house, he's all wet." She skipped off and Louis opened the door wider and stood aside so Eric could enter.

"I'm Louis." He extended his hand. "Come in, come in, nice and warm in here."

"Eric." Eric left his rain poncho on the porch, entered the house and stood dripping on a mat, the door closed behind him. "Thank you." Oh God, yes, it was warm and damn, it felt good.

"Nasty night to be out." Louis said. "Are you part of the rescue teams?" He didn't think so, no reflective vest.

"I'm looking for someone." Eric said tiredly. Even if Clay wasn't here, this was the first house they'd come across in four hours that was occupied, warm and offered the possibility of hot coffee and food. He wiped a wet hand over his wet face and pushed his wet hair back. God, he was tired. The weather and maneuvering the raft against the current left him exhausted.

Louis nodded. He'd known someone would come. " Blonde? 25ish?"

Eric staggered, felt relief course through him. He had to put a hand against the wall when he swayed and nearly fell over.

"He's here?" He finally got out. "You have Clay?"

"Is that his name? Yes, yes he is."

"You're dripping muddy water all over my clean floor. You take those clothes off right now."

Eric blinked. Huh, a different little ole lady, though they looked similar, sisters probably.

"Millie, Eric is our guest."

"Well...alright, he can stay." She decided grudgingly. "I'll follow him with the mop. I didn't mop the hallway today. Been too busy." She pointed at Eric. "Stay right there until I get back."

Louis chuckled as Millie flounced from the room. "They're harmless. The older they get, the more befuddled they become."

"Where's Clay?" Eric began then paused. They didn't know his name? "Is he okay?" That didn't make any sense. Even if Clay was unconscious, he had both his military ID and his driver's license in his wallet. And if he'd lost that in the waters, he had his dog tags around his neck. "Can I see him?"

"Of course you can." Louis hesitated. "I will ask you to remove your shoes first though. Millie will have a fit, you track mud through the house. He's in the room off the kitchen, we couldn't carry him up the stairs. Oh, and I should warn you, the sisters want to keep him. They believe anything they pull out of the river is theirs."

"Even a grown man?" Eric bent over to unlace his boots. What kind of odd-ball place was this? He and Jason would have a good ole time reeling in Sonny.

"Fraid so." Louis chuckled. "How many of you came looking for your young man?"

"Six."

"Louis, is that the rescue team?" Margie came in. "Oh, I see not." Not dressed like he was. "You must be looking for our guest."

"Clay." Louis nodded. "Margie, this is Eric."

"Are you not in fear of flooding?" Eric asked.

"No, no, we're fine." Margie waved him off. "Have had worse storms than this, dam has broken before, we've never flooded."

Eric could believe that. The rafts had been left over a mile away and the road they'd hiked until they'd come to the streets with houses had been dry.

"Everyone leaves because they can't stand not being able to." Louis said. "Maggie!" He called. "Coffee for six men."

"They're having cider!" She yelled back.

At this point, Eric didn't care if she offered him warm milk, he and Bravo would willingly drink anything hot.

"This way." Louis led the way and Eric don't know how it happened, where she came from or how she managed to get behind him without him knowing it, but Millie and her mop were right up his ass.

()

Clay stirred when the light went on, turning his face under the pillow. Good God, he hated that. Couldn't they turn on a dim lamp across the room? Why did it always have to be the bright, unsheltered bulb over his head? It made him see black dots even with his eyes closed.

"Damn me." Eric breathed, watching Clay wince, duck his chin and nuzzle under the pillow, an attempt to shield his eyes from the harsh light, but Eric hadn't caught on to that yet. He pulled out his phone and hesitated. Mmmmm, Jason or Trent? "Got him." He said when the call connected. "Blue Victorian, can't miss it, light on in every window."

"Tell me he's alive?"

"Bring Trent with you, don't know how bad he's hurt."

"Call it in, then call Ray, have him call Brock and Sonny, be there in 3." Jason hung up.

"Clay? Hey Spenser, can you hear me?" Eric approached the bed, phone to his ear as he called Ray. "Was he conscious when you found him?" He set the phone aside. "Clay?"

"No." Margie said. "Hasn't really been with it. Groggy if he does come around."

"Has he said anything?"

"Asked once for a phone." Louis offered. "Muttered some nonsense about TV shows. He'll eat and drink, let us clean him up, couldn't leave him dirty with all that river water. He knew when he had to get up and let me help him to the bathroom, but mostly, he's been like this. Keeps sitting up, tries to get up, holds his head or his arm or his leg or his foot. He's often restless."

"Any obvious injury?"

"He has a nasty bruise on his back, right hip."

"He bruises easily and quickly." And if no broken bones or blood-gushing wounds had been found, Eric wasn't going to make the kid move. Trent could do that. He reached out for Clay's hand, taking hold of his chin to give his head a shake. "He's running a fever?" He questioned. "Have you taken his temperature?" Clay didn't return his squeeze.

"No, we don't have a thermometer, but he's been warm all night." Margie said. "We've given him aspirin."

Clay shook his head, aspirin was not blue. Blue pills were bad. "No…..ow….." He felt the firm hold on his chin, hesitated then turned into the grip, nuzzling his cheek against a cold thumb. Somehow, something about the hand was familiar.

"Clay?" Eric tried again to get his attention. "Hey, wake up. Come on Clay." He frowned as Clay squirmed, biting his lower lip, the light too bright. "What is it? Huh? It's me, Eric. Open your eyes, you'll see me. Hey I'm right here Clay, we're all here. You really think we wouldn't come get you?"

But Clay's eyes didn't open. Fighting through the fog and ever present encroaching darkness to respond to the familiar voice was hard enough. He didn't need another headache, this one between his eyes, by fighting the light. He already had one over his right eye and it was strong enough on its own to make him nauseous. When he winced, squeezing his eyes as tight together as he could, lip curling, Eric finally got the message.

"Right, okay, got it." Eric walked over to the door and flipped the switch to turn the ceiling light off. "That better? You don't like bright light. I know, see?" He turned on a softer lamp that sat on a dresser. "I remember."

He picked up the phone, called someone, spoke about the weather, rain, wind, flights, daylight, hung up.

"Clay? Hey there." Eric spoke quietly, calmly while his heart raced and his breath stuttered. "Hang in there, Trent's on his way, okay?"

Clay moaned, his fists curling around the blanket and pulling.

"He does that a lot too." Margie said.

And Trent was there. "Because he's cold."

()

Margie met Jason at the front door. He and Trent had obviously let themselves in. Maggie was in the kitchen and Millie was mopping behind Trent.

"Any more of you coming?" Margie asked.

"Three more." Jason replied. "I smell bread."

"Indeed you do." Footsteps thudded on the front porch and Margie opened the door to let the last 3 members of Bravo in. Wow, these men were big.

"Millie, take them to see our guest." Margie said calmly, struggling not to freak out. These men, and now there were a total of 7, were large and rough and did not look happy. Indeed, they looked very mean and they scared her. She, her sisters and Louis were out here all alone. Perhaps giving them what they wanted would make them happy.

"I don't want to." Millie pouted, plopping her mop into a pail of cleaner and water. "They will track mud all over my floors."

"Millie, take them to see Clay." Margie said sternly to hide her nervousness.

"Who's Clay?" Millie looked around.

"Our guest." Margie sighed. "Take these men to see our guest."

"Must I?" She sighed. "He's asleep Margie. I don't want them to wake him up." Either she didn't know Trent had already made his way through the house and it was he she mopping up after or she'd forgotten already,

"Lady, I'm in no mood," Jason began, shutting up and pulling back when a mop handle thwacked his chin. "The ffff.."

"Don't you use that tone in this house, young man!" Millie reprimanded him. "Now, you may look in on him, but you can't wake him up. He hasn't been sleeping well today."

Jason started forward but Brock and Ray both reached to grab an arm and hold him back.

"We mean you no harm, ma'am." Ray addressed Margie. "We are looking for our teammate, he was on rescue operations this morning when the dam broke and his boat capsized."

"All of you looking for one man?" Margie said doubtfully. "I've lived here my whole life, that's not how rescue operations work." She looked at them. "And you are not local, so unless you're National Guard, you aren't part of any rescue team."

"You're correct. He volunteered." Ray explained. "We've been looking since last night ma'am. We were told the river currents wouldn't carry debris up river this far, so it took us awhile to make it here in rubber rafts."

"Then you must want something to eat and something hot to drink." Maggie waddled in with a tray of hot cinnamon rolls in her hands. She took one look at the wet, motley crew of men in the foyer, pivoted without missing a step and fled right back to the kitchen.

Margie waved Ray off when he started to apologize. "She's fine, she was expecting to find only your friend Eric." She motioned for them to remove their shoes, toss their ponchos onto the front porch. "Maggie! We have company! Set out some plates. Mugs for coffee"

"They'll get mulled cider!" she yelled back.

Sonny would drink hot water at this point, maybe even add a tea bag, he was that miserable.

()

"Jesus Christ." Trent muttered again. "I need a sweat shirt, something with long sleeves." He told Louis. "Clay? Hey kid." His trained eye instantly spotted the bottle of Aleve on the night stand. "Did you give him these?" He snatched the bottle and shook it. "When? How many? Why?"

"Yes." Louis said. So, this here was the unit's medic. Hmmmmm, he seemed rather rough.

"Why would you do that?" Trent demanded.

"He's running a fever."

"He can't take this." Trent pushed at his hair.

"How would we know that?"

"They're blue, he would have told you he can't take anything blue."

Louis opened his mouth to deny Clay had said any such thing, but remembered Clay saying blue was bad.

Eric held the sweatshirt Louis had handed Trent that Trent had tossed at him, and…did nothing. What was he supposed to do with it? Clay looked up at him, blue eyes murky, yet still somehow bright. Um, dulled with pain, bright with fever, maybe? Eric realized the kid was shaking, no, shivering….right, Trent had said he was cold, Louis had said he kept pulling at the blankets. Clay wanted that sweatshirt.

"Gimme your hand." Eric told Clay. He was well aware and accustomed to Clay's ability to find injury and illness and though many a night, Eric had sat with him in the hospital or infirmary, taking his turn so the kid wouldn't be alone, he'd never really been the one on hand to take care of him. Eric was always on the phone getting Jason and the rest of Bravo out of trouble for disobeying orders and going after the kid.

"We didn't understand what he meant." Louis said lamely. "To us, it's all aspirin."

"You should have known." Trent muttered. "You can't read?"

"Read what?"

Trent looked at Clay, the bottle clutched in a fist. "The fuck Clay! God Dammit, where are your tags? How many times I have told you, never go out with them?!"

"Trent." Eric warned, tone commanding. "These people didn't _mean_ Clay any harm." He had both of Clay's arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt, pushed it over his head, helped Clay sit up so he could pull it down over his back. "Shit, that the bruise?"

Trent reigned in his temper, responding to Eric's authority. Besides, it was just Aleve, an over-the-counter medication and while it would probably help the fever, it would also just give Clay annoying, painful leg and toe cramps that a heating pad would ease. Not like it was life-threatening to the kid.

"What leg does he keep trying to hold?" Trent asked Louis. "Has he been coughing? Any trouble breathing? Has he rubbed his chest or said it hurts?

Louis stared, stunned. How did the medic know anything about that? When he'd told Eric, Trent hadn't been in the room.

"His right." Louis said. "Uh…let's see…he wheezed for a bit, but then threw up half the river. After that, he breathed okay. He keeps trying to hold his head or his leg, sometimes his foot, but not his chest."

"I need heat. Heating pad is best, but a hot water bottle will do. Hot towels if nothing else."

"This is a household of three women." Louis got up. "We have heating pads."

"Tr'nt?" Clay rolled his head on the pillow. "I….don't….feel….." he recognized Eric and his eyes widened. "Comm….and….er."

"Surprise." Eric greeted. "Relax, I drove Jason."

Clay let his eyes droop, raising a hand to his head. "Head hurts…aches. Won't go away."

"Working on it." Trent said. "Gimme a sec."

Louis stopped at the door, Commander? This team had a commander? Just who the hell were these guys?

"…said he has a bruise on back. No other obvious injuries. Pulled him out of the river." Eric was telling Trent as Louis went in search of Margie to get a heating pad. "Just got a glimpse of the bruise...man, he bruises quick."

"He bleeds fast."

He found her in the kitchen, helping Maggie who was happily serving hot cinnamon rolls and mulled cider to four, large, wet men. Millie was humming while she mopped the foyer. Oh boy, Louis thought, they hadn't yet put it together these men were here for their guest and would soon take him away.

"Hello there." Louis greeted. "Welcome."

All four stared at him, judging him, deciding if he were a threat. Louis stared back, waiting to see who would speak first, because whoever did, would be the leader of these men.

"And you are?" Jason finally spoke, taking another bite of hot bun.

"I'm Louis, Margie where might I find a heating pad?"

"Your back from sitting in that chair acting up?"

"No, their medic wants it."

"Their medic?"

"Our medic?" Ray repeated. No way had either Eric or Trent volunteered that information.

Louis chuckled. "You're a military unit from somewhere. The way he came in and took charge clearly says he's the medic."

"Does he need us?" Jason asked around a mouthful of bun. He'd come with his men to the kitchen because crowding Trent would just make him tense. They'd found Clay, he was safe and Trent was with him. It was enough for now. "God damn this is good."

"Just wants a heating pad."

"Who wants more cider?" Maggie asked cheerfully. Four mugs were held out.

"Oh my. Maggie, they're getting everything all wet." Millie wailed. "My kitchen!"

"You know Millie," Margie paused, "Wet clothes need to be laundered."

Millie clapped her hands. "They need blankets! Maggie?"

"On it." Maggie set her sauce pan of cider on the stove, went into the laundry room and emerged with blankets. "More?"

"I have a new bar of Fels-Natha just waiting to scrub some mud." She snapped her fingers. Swiped the hot bun right out of Sonny's hand. "No more for you until you give me your clothes."

Jason laughed, stood up and took a blanket from Maggie. He wanted to see Clay and if leaving his wet clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor helped him accomplish that sooner, he'd happily run around the house, wrapped up in a blanket.

Reluctant to leave the hot buns and cider, his men were slower to obey Millie. Remaining wet and uncomfortable while they ate, kept their mind off Clay and what they were going to find out when Trent was done.

"Tell me everything." Trent said when Louis returned with Margie. Erick went flat on his stomach and scooched under the bed to plug the heating pad in. Not a dust bunny in sight.

Sonny, Ray and Brock peeked through the door, saw Clay and were content to remain in the kitchen. Jason lounged in the doorway.

"Easy kid," Trent shushed Clay when he voiced a protest over the removal of the blankets. Clay wore black boxer briefs that were dry and, Trent assumed, his own. "Soft pillow." He demanded, Margie handed him one, he put the heating pad on top of it and positioned both under Clay's right calf. "Give it 10 minutes or so, the cramps will ease."

"Start from when you found him." Eric commanded as Trent held a flashlight and began his exam. The more they told them, the madder Trent got, and he rarely got mad and he never lost his temper.

"…..then he had a seizure….."

"He didn't have a seizure!" Trent snapped, almost yelled. "He was wet and cold and laying on the floor and you drowned him in hot water, of course he started to shiver!"

Satisfied Clay didn't have a head injury, he moved on, feeling for sore spots, broken bones, cuts, scrapes, gashes...anything.

"…...says his head hurts…"

"Of course his head hurts!" Trent exploded. "Christ! Every god damn light bulb in this house is 100 watts with no shades!"

"Trent!" Eric said more forcefully.

Trent glared at him, went silent because he was taking Clay's pulse, which was racing, making Trent irate.

"What did you give him to drink?" Trent demanded irritably.

"…...he was always cold, kept shivering, so…."

"Coffee. Did you give him coffee? You did." Trent spat, shaking his head. "Don't suppose it was decaf?" Both Louis and Margie shook their heads. "No, course not. What the hell is wrong with you? Caffeine causes an increased heart rate, kid will never settle down and sleep."

Silence. Louis reached to hold Margie's hand.

"Trent, forget it. Is he okay?" Jason asked. "They were trying to help him, let it go."

"Jesus Christ Jason, their 'helping hand'," Trent made air quotes, "Didn't do him any good."

"They were only trying to take care of him." Louis objected. "We did the best we could, with what we had, knowing what we did."

"He's safe in this house." Margie shook her finger at Trent. "Not out bobbing in the river, full of filth, in this cold. You're welcome."

"TRENT!" both Jason and Eric barked before he could say anything. "You can't expect them to know he throws a reaction to every fucking thing." Jason continued. "Move on."

Clay hadn't yet come around or responded in any way other than to say names. Trent didn't like that, there had to be something he was missing and it wasn't a bruised back. That he'd yet to even see, and didn't that just piss him off.

Shit like this wasn't supposed to happen here, at home, on vacation. On the job, in combat, during action, sure, fine, he had no problem with it. But here? In Virginia?

"…keeps trying to rub his head…." Louis went back to telling Trent what had happened.

"Where?" Trent asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." Trent said tersely. "Or I wouldn't have asked."

"Here." Margie pointed to her right temple. "Kept wanting to press it against his palm."

"What did you give him to eat?" Trent was just about at the end of his patience. Oh yeah, the weather, the trip, the search, missing dog tags, his interrupted vacation with his wife. "And don't you dare tell me canned soup."

"Um, that would be bad, why?" Louis ventured timidly.

"All the fucking coffee you gave him and you give him canned soup?!"

Did these people not realize, if they were in a foreign country, in a war zone, arguing like this with him, they would be considered an enemy and he could easily snap their necks?

"OH! Oh, now see here, you great big bully!" Maggie whacked him in the chest with a wooden spoon. "Never in my life have I **_ever_** served anyone canned soup!" She was horrified that anyone dare suggest such a thing. "How ** _dare_** you!"

"Do you salt your homemade soup?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well! There you go."

"Yes," Louis said hastily. "We gave him soup and stew. Ham and eggs omelets."

"Things loaded with salt." Trent stared at the ceiling, counted to ten, reached twenty, started over.

"Clay has reactions to some medications." Eric told Louis, Margie and Maggie. "Naproxen makes his legs cramp. Too much caffeine while he's mediated increases his heart rate and he can't settle down and sleep. Too much salt will give him a headache over his right eye. If he tries to hide his face or squeezes his eyes shut, the light in the room is too bright and bright light will make his head hurt between his eyes."

"Welcome to life with Clay." Jason said dryly. He was huddled in a blanket, mug of cider his hands. Millie was happily doing laundry and she'd assured them that she knew whose clothes were whose.

"So, he can have two headaches at one time?" Maggie questioned.

Eric looked at Trent who was counting to 10 for the 4th time. "He has one head." Trent said between five and six.

"But if it can hurt in different spots, it's two headaches." Maggie insisted. "You have one body, but your foot can hurt and your elbow can hurt, so you have two hurts. You can have more than one finger hurt, so you can have two headaches at the same time."

"We didn't know." Louis said. "He didn't tell us."

Trent threw the towel, dug into his backpack, withdrew an ear thermometer. "Nothing you've told me says why he'd be running a fever."

"We guessed maybe bacteria from the river." Margie said. "We cleaned him up best we could."

"He is clean." Eric agreed.

Trent had to agree. He hadn't even found mud or slime behind Clay's ears and his hair had been washed and was tangle free. There wasn't even any dirt under his fingernails.

"Millie loves to have something to clean." Louis nodded. He felt three pairs of eyes nail him to the floor. "Rest easy now mates," his hands were up, "I took care of the rest of him."

"How high?" Jason asked Trent.

"That can't be accurate." Millie had come for Trent and Eric's wet clothes. "A thermometer takes three minutes to register. And it goes in his mouth, under his tongue."

"Uh yeah, a glass one with mercury from the 50's." Trent muttered. "104.2. Doesn't make any sense."

"Tr'nt?" Clay stirred. "I…..no….my…..arm."

"What about it?" Trent dismissed it. Both arms were attached, that's all he cared about. "I need you to roll over. Let me see your bruise."

"My arm." Clay insisted, trying to raise his left one. "Ow."

Trent took notice. Clay didn't whine. Well, not when he was coherent and lucid anyway. He was trying to tell Trent something and Trent knew when he should pay attention. "Okay, what? Let me see." He took Clay's hand, gave his fingers a squeeze, then started feeling for swelling or sore spots. His fingers felt the hard lump just as Clay winced, hissing through his teeth.

"What?" Eric, out of his wet clothes and wrapped in a blanket, moved closer at Trent's curse. "Something broken? Embedded?" He sat down on the bed, Clay blinked up at him, confused. "Clay? Hey."

Arm full of wet, muddy clothes, Millie toddled off, promising to be right back for Trent's.

Jason grinned as she waved, moving past him through the door. Not even the best ladies at the best 'whorehouse in Texas' had gotten men of out their clothes as quickly as this little lady had.

"Clay, did someone give you a shot?" Trent asked. "Clay, hey, I'm talking to you."

"Mmmmm. Ow."

"Yes, ow, I get it. It hurts." Trent held Clay's chin, gave his head a shake. "Who? Why? Of what? Why would you let them?"

"I…did…..n't." He wasn't feeling any better. "Ow."

"Not good." Jason said from the doorway. "Just another thing he can throw a reaction to."

Trent held his head, frustrated. Aw, fuck, it didn't matter. He went through his backpack, he'd learned his lesson about Clay and inoculations and boosters the last time the kid had had one.

"You know what the doc gave him and have it with you?" Eric asked, looking down at Clay who was now against his hip, seeking warmth, he guessed.

Trent flashed a grin. "Pays to have your own doc, huh?"

"So, that is prescription and you shouldn't have it." Eric shook his head. "I know nothing."

"Just a load of B12 combined with an antibiotic." He gave Clay the shot in the same arm. "No sense making both arms sore."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another one is done!  
> Hope you all enjoyed yet another one!

 

"Fever comes down, he'll be more with it, right? Most likely, it's just a reaction to whatever shot they gave him, right?" Jason asked, passed Eric a mug of hot cider. "Any word on the chopper?"

"Probably." Trent answered. "I'd guess the shot was for hepatitis, though little late and is a series of shots over a period of time." He shrugged. "Advil worked before, should this time."

"Working on daylight for clearance." Eric replied. "I didn't push for emergency action, won't unless Trent tells me it's necessary, 'til then, so we don't ruffle feathers, we're waiting."

"Trent?" Jason prodded. "That okay?"

"Dunno yet." Trent replied. "Gimme a sec." he was rubbing and massaging Clay's right calf, trying to help the cramps ease a bit faster.

"But you can give him something for his fever?"

"Ibuprofen works." Trent motioned to his backpack. "Give him three." He paused. "His fever doesn't come down to under 102 within an hour, make the call Eric."

Three? Jason whistled. He always got the stink-eye he tried to give the kid more than two. And that was on top of not knowing when the last time was these people had given Clay Aleve or how much. Wow.

Eric nodded, held the mug, stuck the hot bun from Maggie who had somehow left the room and returned without him knowing it, between his teeth and dug one-handed for the bottle of ibuprofen. "Done. Guys holding up?"

"Sonny could use a hot shower." Trent answered before Jason could say anything. "Ray should elevate his foot. Anyone call Janine and tell them we have him?"

"Can he have this cider?" Eric asked Trent. "Damn, this is good."

"I'm the best baker in town." Maggie beamed. "Have my own bakery. It is good, isn't it?"

"Very good." Eric smiled. "Thank you."

"Enough to swallow the pills, yeah." Trent answered.

"Brock did, he checked on Cerberus." Jason replied. "Dog's fine, so's Stella."

"You called to check on a dog?" Louis asked curiously.

"He's a military trained dog." Eric replied. "Doesn't always do well when left with strangers."

"Stella is, but he knows Janine." Trent replied. "Clay, I need to you to roll over."

But Clay either wasn't listening or didn't want to, because he didn't move. When Trent nudged his hip with a palm, he fisted Eric's blanket in his right hand and resisted the shove.

"Sure," Trent sighed. If he pushed Clay on to his left side, he'd roll on to his sore arm and chances were, it'd make him puke. If he pushed Clay onto his right side, Eric would have to move, and Clay was quiet, just starting to settle down, no longer squirming and antsy, shivering or shaking and if that was because he was close to someone he knew, Trent didn't want to take that away from him.

"Bruise is on his right hip, roll him left." Eric held his mug out to Maggie for a refill, who again, had gone and come back. Damn she was quiet and quick.

"Don't really wanna roll him on that arm." Trent gnawed on his cheek, thinking it over. "Jace?"

Aaah, Jace.

Jason wondered if Trent knew his tell-sign regarding his emotions was what he called his boss. He moved into the room and set his mug on the dresser. "Yeah."

Two men dressed in nothing but blankets about to wrangle with the man on the bed was Margie's cue to leave. She nodded. "We'll see to your men." She ushered Maggie out.

Clay did not like being picked up and made to sit on his left hip. He didn't like the blankets being pulled off his lap. He didn't like the warmth he was next to being taken away. He groaned, muttering 'no', 'don't', 'lemme go', 'don't wanna', letting go of the blanket to push at the hands that didn't give him his way. When that failed to work, he fisted the sheet on the mattress and went limp, flopping sideways, reaching for the pillow with his other hand.

"Hey come on," Jason said quietly, catching him before he could hit the mattress, letting Eric hold his weight. "Don't give Trent a hard time. This won't take long."

"We iced it for a while." Louis said. "If he got that bruise tonight….last night….then you're right. He does bruise fast."

"He didn't get it in Syria." Trent said. "He didn't get hurt."

"That time." Eric grinned. "Damn, he can squirm."

Jason knew how to get Clay to lie still. He adjusted his blanket and sat down on the bed, reached out to take the kid from Eric, and careful of Clay's sore left arm, adjusted the blanket around them both.

Clay tensed, flinching away from Trent's touch. Not because of where Trent was reaching, but because Trent's hands were still cold and until now, Clay had been snug under the covers.

"You good?" Jason asked. "I can make him lie down on his belly."

"No, I can see." Trent brushed his fingertips lightly over the bruise, starting at the top edge and pressing more firmly as he went lower, felt a lump. Clay squirmed, raising his head to try and look over his shoulder. "Hematoma."

"What makes it not a bruise?" Louis asked.

"Pain." Trent shrugged. "Warm to the touch, the lump, might swell. It's why ice made him more comfortable."

"Serious?" Eric asked. Normally, no, but this was Clay and he experienced symptoms - different symptoms - sooner than most people.

"I'd get him checked out at a hospital here." Trent said. "Far as I guess, he's okay, but would like to have his lungs checked. He doesn't like me touching him, but I can push and apply pressure along his back and hip and all over the bruise and he's not yelling I'm hurting him." He stood up. "He doesn't like it though."

Then, Louis thought, stopping doing it.

"Let me and Eric settle him down, you go get out of those cloths. She's dancing a jig in the hall because yours are the last dirty ones in her house." Jason said, shifted Clay's weight as he helped him turn around and get off his hip.

"Here, you want Aleve or Advil?" Trent grabbed an ankle and helped Jason put Clay on his back.

"Me? Why?"

"Your back hurts. Not blind Jason." Trent handed him the mug he'd left on the dresser. "Chopper will be here at dawn?" He asked Eric, shaking two of the ibuprofen tablets into his palm and handing them to Jason.

"They will call when they're airborne unless I call them sooner." Eric replied. "I gave them definite coordinates. I'm still saying first daylight."

Millie, aware Trent was finally done with Clay, was eager to get his wet, dirty clothes into the washer. She'd hung in there, waited until his attention had turned from the man in the bed, but now, oh now, she was tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, trying to move him towards the door. When that failed to make him move the way she wanted him to, she planted both hands firmly against his hip, lowered her head, planted her feet and pushed with all her might and strength.

Trent merely looked down, Millie grunted and tried and again and Eric coughed into his elbow to smother his laughter.

"Go with her." Jason ordered, amused. "Get warm and dry, let Maggie feed you a hot bun."

Trent nodded, made sure the heating pad was under Clay's calf and let Millie push him from the room.

"I'm glad your friend is going to be alright." Louis said. "Sorry if we made him worse. The sisters, they mean well. They would never intentionally harm anyone."

Eric shook his head. "Trent can be rough, he means nothing by it."

"Battle hardened?" Louis questioned. "I'll go, let you get him to sleep."

"We see combat." Jason acknowledged. "Field medics have to be hard."

Louis nodded in agreement. "Hard job indeed."

Eric left Jason to handle Clay and went to see how the rest of the men were faring and to make sure Trent took care of his own comfort before worrying about Sonny or Ray.

Maggie was busy making breakfast, bacon was frying, eggs were being scrambled. Ray sat with ice on his ankle, his foot resting on a stool. Brock was stirring, uh, batter and Trent was washing up in the sink. Sonny, he was told, was in the shower with a Neti Pot. Whatever that was.

"Kid okay?" Ray was asking Trent. "She's making breakfast. Pancakes." He'd thought he wasn't hungry, having had one too many hot cinnamon rolls, but once she started cooking and he smelled the bacon, he realized, oh yeah, he could eat.

"This time." Trent, like the others, was now clad in a blanket. He took a towel from Millie and sat down at the table. "Still going to a hospital. Depending on what they say, depends on where he goes when we get home."

"Oh, he's going to the hospital at home, see our doc." Eric clarified. "From there, if Stella agrees to stay with him, he can go home."

"And if she doesn't?" Brock asked. "Not saying she won't, but she has classes to teach 40 some miles away."

"Then one of us takes him home." Eric said.

"Roger that."

Alone with Clay, Jason let him go and let him sprawl and get comfortable on his own, curious what the kid would do. Clay didn't wake up, and he didn't move his leg off the heating pad, even in his befuddled state – most likely a reaction to the shots and the accompanying fever, as well as too much caffeine and salt, oh, and a headache – he knew it was helping.

After a moment, he eased more onto his left side, but not enough his right leg came off the pillow, probably, Jason guessed, to take his weight and pressure off the bruise. It wasn't long after that, Clay reached for something to hold onto. He easily found Jason's leg, but when he encountered bare skin, he pulled back.

Jason pulled the blanket across his legs and waited. Sure enough, Clay soon tried again, and this time, feeling material, held tight to Jason's shin.

"You're gonna be the death of me." Jason sighed. "You and me kid, I'm tellin' ya."

"Mmmm." Clay turned his head slightly towards Jason. "Boss?" he licked his lips. "We...all...good?"

Whatever the hell that meant. "Yeah, you're good." Jason replied. Whether it was the right answer to whatever question Clay was asking, Jason didn't know but Clay accepted it and went to sleep.

"Boss okay?" Sonny asked, coming into the kitchen. "Something sure does smell good."

"He's with Clay." Ray said. "You feeling any better?"

"Gonna live." Sonny rested his butt against the counter, accepted a mug of coffee from Maggie. "Thank you." He tried to filch strips of bacon and got his hand whacked with a spatula. "We rolling soon?"

"Soon as it's daylight." Eric replied.

"Oh, are you leaving today?" Millie asked.

"Yes ma'am." Ray replied.

"Not before breakfast." Maggie was disappointed these men wouldn't be staying longer. She so did like to cook for anyone with a healthy appetite. "Are you sure you can't stay for dinner? I can make fried chicken."

Brock laughed, punching Sonny in the shoulder. If he had a sweet-tooth, Sonny had a weakness for fried chicken.

"Rain let up?" Sonny punched him back.

"Yeah," Ray said. "Easier to fly, flight won't be as rough on him."

"Where we going?" Sonny asked. "Home?"

"Taking him to the hospital." Trent said. "I say he's okay, but always best to have him looked at by a doc."

"Then home to our doc." Eric said. "Depends on what he says, where Clay goes next."

"Who needs a doctor?" Millie asked, wiping off the table and setting out plates. "Do you dear? Is it your foot?" She patted Ray on the head, tweaked his ear. "Why, I'm sure it'll be fine in no time."

"No ma'am. We're taking Clay…"

"Our guest?" Maggie turned, cast iron skillet in her hand, Sonny's unsuspecting head within range of a hefty swing. "Oh, no you're not. He's ours. We caught him. We keep him."

Louis held his breath. Here we go. Hopefully, these men would be reasonable and patient with the sister's unique minds. He slowly reached out to tug on Sonny's blanket, motioning with his head for Sonny to carefully move towards him.

"Uh, yeah, no. See here..." Sonny began.

"You're not taking him anywhere." Maggie banged the pan down, and Louis blew his breath out in relief. She would never intentionally harm anyone, but when agitated, and she got to talking with her hands, well, anything with range might just get walloped with a cast iron skillet! Perhaps Margie would be able to talk them down. "You can't have him."

"Now Maggie, we told you he belonged to someone, that they would come looking for him." Margie said calmly. "We can't keep him?

"Why not?" Maggie waved a spatula around. "I'll feed him. Millie will clean up after him."

Millie nodded. "Just like we do with Louis and Tommy."

"We fished him out of the river, we pushed him up the hill, we carried him in here, we cleaned him up, we took care of him." Maggie pointed the spatula at the table where four of Bravo sat. "They didn't."

"Because he's isn't ours." Margie argued gently.

"Yes, he is!"

"No, he isn't." Margie shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, but these men came to get him."

"Well, they can just go home. They can't have him." Millie stomped her foot. "We caught him, he's ours." She turned to Margie. "You let us keep Louis, you let us keep the Tommy, you can just let us keep him."

Eric looked at Ray. Just how many men did these women fish out of the river?

"You said if we pull it out of the river, we get to keep it." Maggie stomped her foot. "And we caught him."

Margie sighed. "Fish, Maggie. Fish and a glass bottle or some such trinket. Not a man."

"Finders keepers, losers weepers." Millie chanted. "We're keeping him for our own."

"Millie, he belongs to these men." Margie said gently. "They want him back."

"They didn't take very good care of him if we found him in the river." Maggie countered. "We've never lost Louis or Tommy."

Four heads ducked in shame, but Trent pushed to his feet to pace.

"We didn't take care of him? _WE_?!" Oh, he'd had had enough. "All we do is take care of him! Go in that room and tell me again we don't take care of him!"

"He was wet and dirty."

"Couldn't walk."

Trent seethed. "He couldn't _walk_ because he was _unconscious_."

"Because you let him go swimming."

"I didn't let…..he wasn't _swimming_!"

"You didn't know where he was."

"We. Didn't. _Lose._ Him."

"Which means you lost him."

"He WASN'T lost!"

"He wasn't with you."

"Hey," Ray hobbled between them. "What the hell's with you Trent?"

"He went through _all this_ for really no reason." Trent flared.

"It's not their fault." Brock protested, ducked his head when Trent whirled on him. "I mean, blame whoever gave him the shot. Room's right there, we heard everything. That shot fucked him up. Without a fever, he would have been able to take care of himself. Or at least tell them how to help him."

"He may not have fallen out of the boat." Sonny pointed out.

"We're lucky Sonny beat his ass enough times he got it through his stubborn head that he needs to tell us where he's going." Ray added. "We knew Trent, we knew and we were able to come after him and you're here to take care of him the right way."

"It's his own fault." Sonny held his mug out for more coffee and Maggie refilled it. "Apparently I didn't beat him up enough, 'cause he took his tags off."

"That's not going to happen again." Ray vowed. "And hey, there's the chance he lost them in the water."

"Not likely. His car keys were in his pocket. No wallet though. I say we hold him down, tattoo that info on him." Brock volunteered. Calm, passive Brock. "Not like he doesn't have any tattoos, what's one more."

"We would never beat him." Millie sniffed. "We are not cruel."

"Trent, hey." Brock tried to intervene but Trent was in word rage war with two little ole women who did not back down from him.

"Look you little terror of two." Trent began. "You can't….."

"Trent." Jason warned, coming into the kitchen. "Something I should know?"

"You!" Trent turned around. "You happy now?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Jason asked, he wasn't angry, could never be angry when one of his men was upset over the health of a team member.

"Because you let him come here."

"He's on vacation Trent, he doesn't require my permission."

"He is not taking him away from us." Millie told Jason. "He's ours. We caught him, we get to keep him, Margie said so."

Jason's eyes twinkled over Millie's head, Margie shook her head. "They misunderstood."

Jason nodded.

"He might not want to stay here." Margie tried. "Maggie, you're busy in town at your bakery, and Millie, keeping those kitchens clean takes a lot of your time. When are you going to have time to take care of him?"

"Oh, but Margie, he's so fine…..those muscles, that flat stomach, those arms…..those shoulders." Maggie began. "Louis is getting old, and Tommy is not soft to hold..."

"He's either slimy or dry." Millie nodded. "And he smells."

"Whoa!" Sonny decided it was time to side with Trent. The amusement fast fading. Jason held a hand up to stop him.

"Tommy is a turtle." Louis said hastily.

"If you're going to keep him, there's a few things you need to know." Jason told the sisters. "He can't eat sweets."

"No cake?" Maggie put a hand to her heart.

"No cake, no cookies, no cinnamon buns." Jason shook his head sadly. "No pie." he added with a whisper.

"Nothing fried." Eric caught on to Jason's plot. "No caffeine, no salt."

"No bacon? No chicken? No ham? No soup?" Maggie was frowning.

"You can't let him out of your sight, 'cause if you do, he goes swimming and gets lost." Jason shared.

"He gets lost a lot." Eric said solemnly.

"Took all six of us to find him this time." Jason went on.

"Took satellite phones, boats, helicopter." Eric added. "But hey, you know Jason, we leave him here, we won't have to be up all night, always looking for him."

"Always?"

"He does this often?"

"All night?"

Maggie and Millie exchanged a look.

"We want a kitten." Millie announced. "Two." She bargained. "One for me, one for Maggie. One orange, one black."

Margie looked surprised - shell-shocked even.  "Done."  She managed to stutter.

Millie beamed, winking at Eric. Those manipulative little ole ladies!

Eric exchanged a bemused look with Jason. One of the Navy's top elite snipers bartered away for two kittens.

***000***

Stella looked up, eager to see Clay, but the door opened and it was Jason who barged through. She wasn't scared of him and she didn't like to admit she was timid around him, but yeah, he intimated her and he was clearly pissed off and apparently, he was pissed at her.

She unconsciously drew back. Janine put a hand on her back, a comforting touch that told her she had nothing to worry about from Jason, but still…..

"Did you know about this?" Jason tossed a chain that clinked onto the table in front of her. He wanted to throw it at her, not because he was mad at her, but because the whole situation just pissed him off. "Did you? Answer me?"

Janine, Trent's wife who had been with her since Bravo had left in search of Clay, picked whatever it was, up.

Oh. Clay's dog tags.

"He doesn't take these off, do you understand me? Not at home, not in bed, not ever."

Janine ignored the military issued tag that stated name, rank, blood type and religion and turned the second one around in her fingers. Aah, the symbol for a medical alert.

"Morphine, ibuprofen, Telithromycin. Limit salt, caffeine." She read aloud. "When did he get this? I didn't know he had it."

And didn't that annoy Stella. Janine knew more about the team – and Clay's position with it – than she did.

"They were in the ashtray of his car." When Jason hadn't found them in the pockets of Clay's jeans, he'd made it his mission to find them. Yes, it was possible, but doubtful they'd come off in the floor waters. If they car keys hadn't come out of his pocket, no way in hell those tags had come off his neck. And if he hadn't found them in the car, if he kid had left home without them…..mmmmmmm.

"It's for us." Ray said more calmly but with a touch of anxiety. Jason was on edge, making his men edgy as well. "The way and places we lose that kid Stella, I'm telling you, you've no idea. We never thought we'd lose him here at home but we did, and we nearly _**lost**_ him. Those people meant well, but by trying to help him, they did more harm than good."

"Because they didn't know." Brock added. "Technology is great and looks like we're gonna have to go that way. We thought….." He sighed. "The tags only work if he has them on."

"I….I didn't think you, um, all wore them so much anymore." She stammered.

"He does." Eric stated firmly. "And he will continue to do so."

"I can't always be with him." Trent said. "We can't and we never know what situation we'll be in. Don't ask me how he managed before us, I don't know, I don't care. But now, keeping him alive is on us and if Sonny gets his way about tagging his ear with GPS tracking, believe me, we'll all help him."

"I can't believe his luck." Janine said, playing with the chain. "Have you even known someone so lucky?"

"Say what?" Trent raised his head. "The hell Janine?! Lost in flood waters, given booster shots he didn't need, threw a reaction to them – again, fever, hematoma, he nearly drowned…..we're here, at the hospital – again…..how is any of that lucky?"

"Three men went off the rescue boat; one dead, one still missing, one found shelter and people to take care of him. No, they didn't do it properly, but their hearts were in there right place. Maybe they made him miserable and he suffered a bit, but he was warm, dry, clean and safe." Janine argued patiently, without heat. "He called Jason and told him where he was going. You were all able to get here and search. You found him. Eric had the authority and clearance to get you boats and a chopper….how is any of that not lucky?"

"And it only cost you two kittens to get him back." Eric cracked.

"Stop making sense." Trent scowled. "I hate when you do that."

"Women." Brock rolled his eyes.

Stella wanted to argue, state she hadn't asked Clay to remove his tags. Yes, the chain, um, got in the way sometimes, and until now, right now, she hadn't seen a valid reason for him not to take the necklace off while at home, but she got it, she did.

She wanted him alive and healthy and if lost, until he could be found, taken care of properly by whoever found him. So, she nodded.

"Really thought we'd kicked his ass enough times, we'd gotten through." Brock said. "How many times do we have to beat him, he finally listens?"

Stella was silent. Clay never talked about missions or his job or training for it. She knew he spent more time with these six men, Lisa and Mandy than he did with her, but she thought they all got along. Sure, sure sometimes he came home with bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes, but never, not once had he ever led her to believe any were from his team.

"Guys." Janine scolded. "No one is tagging his ear Stella. They're just upset. They joke about it all the time, but believe me, when then do GPS him, it won't be in his ear. And he's Clay, the time they're going to need it, the battery will be dead. Or the satellite will be in a meteorite storm." She saw Stella's face and gave her a hug. "Oh Stella, no! They don't really beat him up! It's an expression! Verbally, sure. Do they chase him down, tackle him, make him listen while they yell at him? Yes. But no, not ever, would they put a hand on him in violence. Come on, let's go see him."

"I guess I never really understood how you all felt when he didn't come back or he disappeared or wasn't where he was supposed to be." She looked at Jason. "I always thought these days, finding someone could be done simply by tracking his phone. Now I know how easily that can't be done."

"We go to a lot of places where there is no cell signal." Brock said. "Cerb is not trained to track, we're working on it, but yeah, for us to sleep at night, he gets lost going to the john, Cerb's gonna find him."

"Can he go home?" Stella asked. "How…?"

"Brock will drive his car back, Sonny and Ray will drive back with me. Trent and Janine will follow." Eric paused. "Clay will go via chopper with Jason and you."

She frowned, wondering why Jason.

"Jason and Ray are not fit to drive. Sonny can't drive or fly." Eric answered her unasked question. "I can send Trent on the chopper, Janine can drive back on her own but someone is going with him because there is no way, while he is medicated and running a fever, we are letting him out of our sights."

She thought about saying, 'I'll be there' but he'd gone missing while with her. Though to be fair, Bravo lost him way more times that she had. And really, she hadn't lost him. Then she wondered why Eric was making decisions and giving orders. The team was on vacation, yet if he ordered Trent to fly home with Clay, he would. Would it be because it was an order, or because he wanted to?

"And no, it's not up or open to discussion. He will be taken to the hospital to be seen by our doc. If Alana can't pick Jason up, Betty will come get him, take you to Clay's apartment." Eric said and that was that, that was how it was going to be. "Getting checked out here isn't good enough."

"Will he be admitted to the hospital back home?" Stella asked. "The doctor here said he's okay, right?"

"He'll stay a day or so." Jason answered. Until I calm down and no longer want to throttle him, went unsaid.

"We're home, on vacation and we lost him." Ray grinned, lighting the mood. "We put him on that chopper, we're not gonna be there to get him off it. So yeah, to make sure we don't lose him mid-flight, one of us is going with him."

What, did they think he could get off the chopper while it was in the air? Well, she hedged, he could. He knew how, it was his job, all he needed was a parachute. Did choppers fly that high? Probably not. Okay, well, he could repel out, or climb down one of the rope ladders…dear Lord, what was she thinking?

Huh, probably exactly what everyone on Bravo was thinking.

She nodded. The flight wouldn't be long and on a chopper without headsets, she and Jason wouldn't have to communicate and Clay would be asleep. She could do this. She'd best get used to having these men in her life. Janine was fine with it, hell, she and Trent had a guest room for whoever, whenever – married or not.

"Okay," she nodded, wanted Clay's dog tags to hold but Janine handed them to Jason who had his hand out and he put them in his pocket.

"Chopper's here." Eric said, looking at this phone in his hand.

Stella blinked. Here? At the hospital?

"Come on." Jason said gruffly, ready to sit down and ease his back. He couldn't wait to get home and lay down. "We can go up to the roof with him, send Sonny out, put these around his neck." Stop me from choking the living daylights out of him for taking them off in the first place.

Stella gave Janine a hug. "Thank you."

"Don't worry, he'll be fine. Call just to talk, whenever."

Stella nodded, took a deep breath and followed Jason, who stopped to hold the door for her.

"Gonna be a long flight." Ray quipped.

"Yup." Eric shook his head. "Let's load up, long drive."

***END***


End file.
